


Dream Girls

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-01
Updated: 2002-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For over a year Spike's dreamed of Buffy, so what happens when he's finally offered her...at a terrible price?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dreamer

Abruptly the roaring engine cut off, leaving the dark street just as silent as it had been before the midnight visitor’s arrival. Several stores down, the street lamp flickered with a bulb in the waning stages of life, adding a seedy, dangerous edge to a commercial district that was thoroughly respectable by day. But few people dared to venture here after the sun had set.

One who did, however, was the man still seated on the now quiet motorcycle. He flicked on a sliver Zippo lighter, unfazed by the threatening environment around him. In fact, he seemed eerily at place in the still dark of night, almost as if he were a part of it.

One might almost be tempted to say that he was the danger that lurked in the blackest shadows. Those who knew him certainly would, but that was a long time ago.

He casually lit the cigarette between his lips and dismounted his bike. Paradoxically, this newfound warrior of the light still wore the costume of his previous position: faded jeans, tight black tee, Doc Martens, and a long black leather duster. His bleached-white hair shone in the false illumination that alone had graced him for the past century and then some.

He paused for a moment to detach the bag that was fastened to his newly ‘acquired’ black Triumph and scanned the street once to make sure no one was watching. Satisfied, he turned to the nearest darkened storefront under the sign that read ‘The Magic Box’ and turned one of the many keys on his chain in the lock.

It clicked open, but the handle still wouldn’t budge.

With a seep sigh, Spike rubbed his hand over his eyes and grumbled under his breath, “Miss Kitty Fantastico.”

The magical nighttime security measure lifted under the incredibly inappropriate password for the former Big Bad. He entered the shop in a foul mood but couldn’t quite manage to suppress the sly smile that snuck upon his lips each time he was reminded how well these people trusted him now.

Of course, he was still little better off than ‘hired help’ – and that, in fact, had been what this last mission was all about – but, in the end, the minimal acceptance he’d gained while helping to defeat Glory had been well worth the effort.

 _You’re such a wanker_ , he reminded himself for the umpteenth time.

He closed and locked the door behind him before making his way down to the basement, bag still in hand. The basement was pitch-black of course, but with his vampiric vision he didn’t even notice. To his eyes, the basement looked perfectly normal…well, perfectly normal for a shop that specialized in the occult, that is.

Jars of strange and exotic ingredients – that he was unfortunately _far_ too familiar with due to all the botched spells he had become victim to – lined the aisle as he walked to the far back corner of the storage cellar. He cringed in particular as he passed the jerix root, not quite ready to deal with the horrifying memories of Flowerchild!Spike just yet…

The back wall looked like all the others at a casual glance, but once one looked _really_ closely at it, it became apparent that the ‘impressions’ of writing on the labels and items in the jars were false. In fact, if one looked at it _just right_ , it suddenly looked just like a metal door.

Spike had long since learned to see past the illusion, and it parted before him. He casually moved aside a jar of slug’s tails on the shelf to his right to expose a number pad. He pressed in the appropriate combination, and the door swung inward on its hinges. The magic that guarded the door was trained to accept his presence, and he entered without incident.

He zipped open his bag and removed the brittle, old book from the protective wrap of his spare T-shirt and jeans. Carefully, he placed the tome on one of the shelves to be protected by the double safety of science and magic just like all the other objects in the room. That pretty much ensured its safety since the only person Spike had met in his entire unlife that had any skill in both fields was Willow.

Making sure everything was securely shut behind him, he made his way from the shop and into the warm summer night air. One of those mercurial moods he was famous – and infamous – for overtook him then, and he let out a whoop of excitement and freedom as the engine of his bike roared back to life. One final rev to the engine, and he rode off down the street, the wind in his hair and a smile on his face.

After all, next stop: the girl of his dreams.

He took the scenic route because: 1) it was a beautiful night and there was no need to hurry; 2) it put that extra annoyed flush in the Slayer’s cheeks whenever he woke her up after two am; and 3) he needed to strategically edit his account of his trip to make it more, er… _appropriate_ to someone who was tired, annoyed, obsessively moral, and – most importantly – wielded sharp wooden objects.

In truth, he’d gotten a little bit carried away with himself.

The courier had been one of those nervous little tweedy men with a weak chin and eyes that darted around like a scared rabbit’s. He’d just landed in LAX when he heard on the news of the roving gang that had just been in Sunnydale and correctly assessed the demonic nature of the incident.

After that, no amount of cajoling over the phone from either the Slayer or her Watcher could get the nervous courier to take one step closer to the Hellmouth.

Hence, the need for Spike to go out and meet him; sometimes being the only member of the group with no job, obligations, or schedule really sucked.

However, he’d more than made up for it when he realized that no one had bothered to inform the nervous man that the ally he was meeting was a vampire.

Hilarity had ensued, at least from _Spike’s_ perspective; it had been a long time since anyone had been scared of him, and he’d used it to his full advantage, reciting all that cool, bad ass stuff he’d been saving up over the past few years.

Of course, he’d left the terrorized human untouched – what with the chip and all – but he knew it was exactly the sort of thing that would set the Slayer off on another ‘why Spike’s evil’ rant. Like it was _his_ fault the Watcher had sent such a coward…

The story appropriately edited in his mind, he slowed down Revello Drive until he came to a stop in the street right outside her window. He revved the engine a few times, and evil smirk on his face.

When he’d first ‘acquired’ the bike from a member of the aforementioned roving demon gang, he’d done exactly this. Stopped by the house, caught her attention with a flashy display of noise, and asked her if she’d like to join him on a ride.

She’d refused, of course, complaining about the noise and the somewhat illegal way in which he’d ‘acquired’ the bike.

He’d protested that the previous owner had been a demon, and he’d had to kill it anyway, so why not profit from it as well?

She’d rolled her eyes and stuck her nose up in the air, accusing him of never being able to understand.

It had been all too clear to him, though.

He wasn’t good enough for her. Oh, he was good enough to help her fight the new evil in town, and be her patrolling partner every night, and protect her friends and Li’l Sis. But it ended there.

He wasn’t good enough to spend time with, to have fun with, to get to know better. And, sure, she’d give him quick little kisses – OK, so only two, and only then for saving Dawn and the world from certain annihilation at Glory’s hands – but she’d never sit behind him, wrap her arms around his waist, rest her cheek against his back, let her inner thighs press against the backs of his. Oh no, he was just a demon…

Spike briefly pondered whether to be aroused or angry at the image he’d just produced in his head. He settled for mildly bemused, called himself a wanker again, and went back to the ‘not brooding’ that unfortunately occupied most of his time nowadays.

But he would never let her know how much every little rejection hurt him, so he just made a joke out of it. She complained about the noise? So, he’d show her just how noisy it could be. She looked down on his hopeless attempts to woo her? Well, she couldn’t mock him if he did it first.

And that was pretty much all he could pull off anymore: a sad mockery of courtship. Oh yeah, he hated his unlife…

Except when he loved it.

However, tonight she didn’t seem to be rising to the bait.

He revved the engine a few more times, hoping she’d make an appearance at the window – tousled bed hair, lacy nightwear, and brassed off expression – to yell at him for the racket. But, still, she didn’t come.

He frowned. All the lights in the house were off, and on the odd occasion when Buffy wasn’t home for his little performances, Dawn would at least clue him in so she could get back to sleep.

Not a peep from the Summers house tonight, though. Something was wrong.

He hadn’t thought anything when the Magic Box had been closed. After all, the Watcher’d moved back to England, the two Wiccas were visiting him over the summer, and Anyanka had gone up to San Francisco for the weekend on business, dragging the Whelp along with her for a “pre-pre-honeymoon honeymoon.”

But now… It they weren’t here, where were they?

In an instant, Spike had left his bike, scaled the tree in the yard, and leapt from a branch to the Slayer’s roof with feline grace. Her window was open to save on the summer air conditioning bill, and he climbed in without looking, afraid of what he discover within.

His jaw dropped to the floor at what he found. Whatever he had been expecting, it was most certainly not this…

The Slayer – _his_ Slayer – lay on her back, stretched out upon red silken sheets, the skimpy golden negligee she wore illegal in fifteen states, he was certain. A gold band hugged her throat, glinting in the moonlight and drawing his attention to the slender column of naked flesh.

He drank the sight in with his eyes, wishing that he could drink it in with another certain portion of his anatomy as well… _Stop thinking with your fangs!_ He chided himself with his last vestiges of common sense.

This quickly faded when, as he watched, the Slayer stretched out languidly before him, exposing even more of her tanned thighs as well as the hardened nipples that strained against their lacy covering.

He found himself in a situation he’d never been in before: he was completely and utterly paralyzed by lust. His mouth was dry, and his hands were trembling, and his cock was pressed painfully against the zipper of him denim, and he had completely forgotten how to move.

She looked him up and down with deep, emerald eyes and licked her lips in response.

His cock jerked violently in his jeans, and somewhere in the back of his mind he decided that this absolutely _had_ to be a dream. There was no way she wanted him like this…was there?

He decided he didn’t care if it was dream or reality as long as it kept going…

“C’mere, gorgeous,” Buffy said coyly, smiling at how stunned he was, and beckoning him to her with one crooked finger.

 _That_ finally jogged his memory, and he moved over to the side of the bed, sitting down when Buffy gently patted the mattress beside her.

“B-Buffy…” His voice squeaked, and he flinched.

But she merely laughed and sat up beside him, their chests only a few inches apart…

“I’ve been waiting for you, you know,” she whispered into his ear, her breath tickling the short hairs at the base of his neck.

His cock strained against his zipper. “Y-Yeah, well, I jus’ got back into town, luv.” Ah, good. He had regained the ability to form coherent sentences…

“I missed you,” she said softly. “I was waiting and waiting…” She leaned in closer with every word until their lips were only millimeters apart.

“I’m…sorry?” Oh, damn. There went coherent speech again.

But he didn’t need it because then her lips were on his, and her hands were on his back, and her tongue…oh, her tongue! She was licking at his lips, begging for entry.

He finally came out of his ‘Buffy kissed me!’ stupor long enough to part them, and groaned when her tongue slipped inside, exploring every inch of his mouth. His own tongue joined hers, and they stroked each other slowly, gently, passionately, drawing out the other’s pleasure as much as they could before Buffy pulled back for air.

Spike let out a little gasp and began slowly kissing his way from her temple down to her throat, past her collarbone to where her breasts swelled into the thin, see-through lace of her golden down.

“Oh, Buffy…” he moaned, his mind repeating ‘ _this is not a dream; this is not a dream; this is not a dream…_ ’ over and over in his head lest he forget.

“Mmm…” she let out a little, kittenish moan before shoving his duster down and off his shoulders.

It pooled onto the floor, instantly forgotten when her hands came up inside his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

“Very nice,” she said with a small smile, running one finger down the center of his pale, smoothly muscled chest. “Lay back,” she requested, pushing him down slightly.

“Wh—?” The question on his lips was stopped by her fingertip.

“Shh,” she soothed him, “just relax, baby. I’m going to make you feel _sooo_ good…”

He really couldn’t argue with that. He watched in rapt fascination as she moved down his body, kissing and licking as she went.

She caught each of his nipples between her teeth in turn, gently playing with the hardened buds.

He jerked beneath her, clutching her hair with his hands, trying to pull her up for another kiss.

She firmly refused his request, though. “Here,” she said, taking his hands and guiding them to the headboard above him. “Hold on tight, lover…”

He did as she asked and gasped and hissed as she lowered her mouth to his stomach, flicking the sharpened point of her tongue in and out of his navel a few times, making love to it.

He nearly lost it when she reached his swollen erection.

She patted it lovely through his jeans a few times before nuzzling her cheek up against the strained denim.

He bucked violently against her, but she didn’t take the hint, instead moving further down his body, caressing all the way until she reached his feet.

She took each foot into her lap in turn, removing his boots as she did so. Then she slid up his body, her weight gliding against him, her fingers trailing up the outsides of his thighs to his stomach, his chest…

They finally came to rest on his shoulders, and she leaned in to give him another of those long, languid kisses. When they finally broke apart, he was breathless. He lay there panting beneath her while she licked and sucked at his throat, finding all those sensitive little spots that drove vampires wild.

“Buffy,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “My love…”

They opened again when she stopped, however. For one horrified moment, he thought he’d said the wrong thing, but then he found her staring down at him, smiling like a minx.

“I can tell just by looking into your eyes,” she began in a sultry whisper, “that you’re the kind of guy that likes gentle, slow lovemaking…”

“Yes, Buffy,” he gasped, all intelligent words escaping him.

“Well, tonight,” she informed him, “is the night all your dreams come true…”

She pressed her hips down onto his throbbing erection slowly.

“You know,” she commented, off-handed, to herself, “I wish Rhitias would’ve told me how romantic you were…and how handsome…”

And then her tongue was on his throat again.

He moaned…and then frowned. What was he trying to do again? Oh yeah, think. What was he trying to think?

He pushed her back gently, just for a second. “Who’s Rhitias, pet?” he asked curiously.

Buffy frowned for a minute before she nodded in understanding. “OK, baby,” she agreed, “you’re right. Rhitias doesn’t even exist.” She went back to kissing him.

The feeling that something was seriously wrong grew to hideous proportions, and he pushed her back again. “Buffy, what’s going on here?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doesn’t it feel good, baby?” she asked worriedly. “Amn’t I giving you pleasure?” She caught his earlobe between her teeth and gave it a playful twist.

“Oh god, yes!” he cried in delight. And then he remembered what he’d been trying to discuss with her. “What on earth is—?”

He never got to finish his question, though, because right then the door opened. A Cheseh Demon stood on the other side – snout, bat ears, and all.

He and Spike stared dumbly at each other for a few seconds, while Buffy continued her attentions to Spike’s ear, seemingly oblivious to all else around them.

“Hey!” the Cheseh Demon growled in fury, having broken out of its stunned state first. “ _I_ bought first dibs on her, fair and square!”

“What?!” Spike exclaimed in confusion and disbelief.

Buffy paid attention to their exchange for the first time, looking back and forth between the two of them with sudden realization. “You’re not—!” she began accusingly, pointing at Spike.

“Get out!” the Cheseh Demon demanded.

Spike sat up to growl at him, turning his back on Buffy.

The Cheseh Demon backed up a step, obviously realizing ‘Master Vampire’ for the first time…

And then Spike felt something hard hit him in the head, and the world went black.

“We’d better call Rhitias,” Buffy said, bat still in hand, biting her lower lip. “He’ll know what to do…”


	2. The Dream

When Spike finally woke up, he realized four things in quick succession.

First, he had a splitting headache, the sort of thing that only a _really_ hard hit to the head could give a vampire.

Second, the Slayer had been behind him when said hard hit had occurred. Slayer definitely had ability to give vampire splitting headache.

Third, he had been in comfy Slayer bed when he was hit. He was now on cold floor with chains binding all four of his limbs.

Fourth, his boots were missing. True, this probably wasn’t important, but it was weird and mildly annoying all at the same time. After all, he really liked those boots.

Now, he could come up with several different explanations to account for these four facts, but – contrary to popular belief – Spike wasn’t stupid. So, while the idea that the Slayer had knocked him out to have some bondage fun was appealing, he didn’t buy it. In fact, now that the brain in his head had been activated and the one between his legs had been deactivated, he realized that Buffy had been acting pretty damn nuts all last night.

He groaned and came up with inventive insults to describe his clueless behavior of the evening before. Although, in all fairness, he couldn’t really have expected that his partner in demon slaying would suddenly up to knock him out and kidnap him. No, that part still made no sense.

He briefly toyed with the idea that what he’d encountered last night hadn’t actually been Buffy, but discarded the idea at the all too real memory of the smell of Slayer arousal. He couldn’t help but smile despite his predicament; it really was a delightful aroma.

Bracing himself, he ventured on to step two of his ‘figure out what the bloody hell is going on’ plan. He opened his eyes.

And instantly wished he hadn’t.

The room really shouldn’t spin in circles like that. It was quite nauseating. If he had the ability to throw up, he would be right now. He once again thanked his vampire physiology for this lovely – although little known – plus.

For a while back in the forties, Drusilla had decided that she wanted to disprove this secret truism and had tried to induce herself to vomit for several days. It was quite possibly the _strangest_ episode in his unlife, and his mind was wandering again, so what had he been thinking?

Oh yeah. Opening eyes bad.

Fortunately, it was better the second time around, although his head still hurt like a Slayer had bashed him over the head with a baseball bat. And it was all right if his metaphors weren’t so much metaphors as literal truth because his head _hurt_ , dammit!

So now, where was he? Nothing creative, of course. Grey walls, dungeon looking. Just once, he wished an obliging kidnapper would lock him up in a posh suite at some five-star hotel complete with sauna, a masseuse (preferably Slayer-shaped), and those delightful little blood-and-peach-syrup cocktails he and Drusilla had had when they’d stayed with the Marseilles clan just prior to the draught in ’72. Damn, he missed their cooking…

So, speaking of cooking, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten last night because he’d wanted to stop by the Slayer’s first, which was when he’d been knocked out, which was why he was here.

He was once again impressed by the system he and his ADHD had worked out to get things done. Fortunately, he could usually reign in his more scatterbrained impulses, but the ability tended to fade when he got hysterical. Which he probably was right now. He blamed it on horniness.

And his lack of shoes. Random things like that just _demanded_ a hysterical response.

He focus did seem to be returning now, however. Several overarching commands could cut through the mental quagmire he had to wade through like a knife through butter. The first was ‘kill now’. He was hoping to use that one on his captor shortly.

The second was ‘don’t get dusted’. That one currently fuelled his examination of his bonds.

He suspected that he’d find a third in ‘fuck Slayer’, but regrettably he’d never been given the opportunity to test that one out. And probably never would. He allowed himself a few seconds of self-pity.

But only because the chains were solid. They were rusty and nasty to be sure, but he doubted he could break them.

However, on the plus side, he now knew that his captor was a demon because only a demon would keep something so kinky and nasty around. Spike had a set of his very own back at the crypt.

So, that meant that there was nothing he could do to escape. The ever looming ‘bored now’ hung in the back of his mind, so he decided to do something about it. Really, the only thing he could do in this situation: creative cursing.

“Oi, cowardly wanker! Get out ‘ere an’ show your stub-snouted hide!” He’d come to the (perhaps incorrect) conclusion that his captor was the Cheseh Demon from the night before. But, even if he was wrong, it made for entertaining mockery. “Your mother teach you ta hide your soddin’—”

A steel door at the end of the room opened, proving Spike’s long-standing theory that _no one_ was able to refrain from joining a fight more than ten seconds after the phrase “your mother” was spoken. It was a cheap tactic, but he stuck with what worked.

The figure that greeted him was not the Cheseh Demon of the night before, however. Rather, his captor looked extraordinarily like a human. He _smelled_ extraordinarily like a demon, but he was definitely as passable as any vampire.

Spike quirked a curious eyebrow in his direction. The ‘man’ was shorter than Spike (Spike insisted that meant that he was medium-height, not short; everyone else that didn’t have delusions of tallness would have said the latter), a bit chunky around the middle, balding with a comb-over, and wore coke-bottle glasses. Spike updated his opinion of his captor to ‘ultra-wanker’ and updated his own status to ‘ultra-ultra-wanker’ for having let this loser get the best of him.

“Ah, Mister Spike,” the ‘man’ said with pompous formality, “I see you have awakened. I must apologize for the poor accommodations, but it was necessary that I verify your identity before I put my faith in you. I trust you are not unduly offended?”

Spike recognized the speech pattern. It was one he’d dropped approximately eight months after he’d died. People often approached him this way until they realized that he didn’t buy into the ‘Victorian Vampire’ image in the slightest.

“Look, mate,” Spike said, putting on the Cockney extra thick for this ponce’s benefit, “you gonna let me up anytime soon, ’r’m I gonna ‘ave ta start bashin’ skulls?”

It was a vain threat, but it got his point across quite clearly.

The ‘man’ snapped his fingers and instantly two scantily clad women – yes, Spike’s cock did just twitch in response – entered the room and unlocked his manacles.

“So, er…yeah,” Spike was feeling a bit disoriented again, “who’re you then?”

“Rhitias,” the ‘man’ shrugged, dropping the pompous act the instant he saw that it didn’t impress Spike in the slightest. “And you’re the infamous William the Bloody,” he said, bemused. “Gotta admit, I was surprised to find that _you_ , of all people, were caught in the Slayer’s bedroom…not killing her, that is.”

“Your info’s a few years old then, mate.” Spike rubbed his wrists and got to his feet, brushing off the help of the two nearly naked women.

“You ‘fancy’ her then?” Rhitias correctly surmised. “That is how you British say it, isn’t it?”

Spike merely scowled in response. He suppressed his homicidal rage only because he really had no clue what was going on, and he didn’t want to make matters any worse.

Rhitias merely laughed in response. “It’s quite all right,” he assured Spike. “In fact, I may be able to help you out…”

* * *

Spike had sobered by the time his boots had been located and returned to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been drugged with something earlier that had made him slightly loopy. Things definitely seemed less funny now.

Now, they just seemed downright _strange_.

After emerging from the dungeon and following his profusely apologetic captor, he’d discovered that he was actually in an estate that put Angelus’ old mansion to shame. However, contrary to the usual doom’n’gloom décor most demons preferred, this mansion was almost ridiculously bright and lavish.

Whitewashed Spanish style architecture led to a confusing maze of verandas and courtyards that had Spike all turned around within minutes. Bright, exotic colors decorated every spare surface, and Spike was oddly reminded of those sultan’s palaces from old movies.

This impression was heightened when they entered Rhitias’ ‘office’. The room didn’t look all that different from a harem chamber, to tell the truth, tasseled couches and loveseats strewn about the room. Spike harbored a brief fear that the demon fancied him, but tossed it aside quickly. Rhitias’ flattery didn’t so much resemble a pick up as…

“I imagine you’ve become a rather wealthy man over the years,” Rhitias segued nicely into Spike’s latest suspicion. “After all, one hundred twenty odd years is a long time in which to accumulate…”

“Yeah?” Spike neither confirmed nor denied his suspicions, keeping his tone bored and mildly hostile.

The pudgy man gave him a broad smile and offered him a cigarette out of a fine silver case he kept in his pocket.

Spike accepted, mostly because he hadn’t had a good nicotine buzz in who knew how many hours now. He allowed the demon of unknown species to light up his cigarette for him and took a few deep puffs, letting the smoke warm up his lungs before exhaling.

Rhitias sat down at the oriental style desk, resting his feet on a comfortable little ottoman before he spoke again. “I have a proposition for you,” he finally said.

“Oh?” Spike responded disinterestedly, moving around the room to fiddle with the various exotic knick-knacks that decorated the room.

“You have something that I want, and I have something that you want,” he responded matter-of-factly. “I believe an exchange is in order.”

“Yeah, an’ what could you possibly ‘ave that I want?” Spike demanded. He’d put two and two together from the Slayer’s comments the night before, of course, but his conclusion was disturbingly implausible.

“The Slayer,” Rhitias gave the answer Spike had suspected.

He laughed. “What? You got ‘er tied up in a dungeon, hangin’ over a vat ‘f ‘gators while acid’s eatin’ away at the rope?” he asked sarcastically.

“Hardly,” Rhitias snorted derisively. “Let’s just say that whatever I command, Buffy does. And I could just happen to command her to love a certain vampire…”

“For the right price.”

“Exactly,” Rhitias said in delight.

“So, basically what you’re tellin’ me ‘s that you’ve got the Slayer workin’ as your whore,” Spike decided to cut through the bullshit. It was exceedingly boring. “Now, why don’ I believe you?”

“Obviously because the claim is unbelievable,” Rhitias replied, “but true nonetheless.”

“Uh…yeah,” Spike picked up a particularly ugly little statue that he was sure Anya sold as a ‘fertility idol’. “How ‘bout ‘xplainin’ that then?”

Rhitias was at his side in a minute, snatching the statue from his hands. “It’s very expensive,” the not-quite-man informed him, setting it lovingly back on the shelf.

“Uh-huh.”

“About your Slayer,” Rhitias got back to the matter at hand, “she has come into my possession only recently.”

Spike felt the nearly uncontrollable urge to strangle the little demon for claiming to possess _his_ Slayer, but reigned it in for the time being. _Wait now, kill soon_ , he reassured himself.

“You see, in my…studies over the years, I’ve managed to concoct a rather potent spell,” Rhitias went on. “I’ve fiddled with it here and there over the years, until finally…voila!”

“You spent years tryin’ to turn the Slayer into a sex toy?” Spike said in disbelief.

“No, no, no,” Rhitias shook his head impatiently. “This isn’t about the Slayer. This is about _women_.”

“Yeah?” Spike really wished the demon would get to the point so he could rip his head off.

Rhitias leaned in closely to him, excited, conspiratorial. “It’s the entire town,” he confessed. “I did it to every woman in town.”

“Did what?” Spike demanded. _Oh shit, Dawn… Where was she?_

“Made them my slaves,” Rhitias said proudly. “Made them _our_ slaves.”

“What?!” Spike exclaimed. He wasn’t even sure what emotion to ascribe to his exclamation, but an exclamation was needed nonetheless.

“Well, more _my_ slaves than our slaves, really, but then I suppose the fact that they’re my slaves means they’re everyone’s slaves…” Rhitias was rambling.

Spike was pissed. He hadn’t quite pinned down why he was pissed, but he was pissed anyway. “I think,” he managed to keep his voice calm through his barely suppressed rage, “that you’d better explain yourself right now, _mate_.” The last word was spoken with pure venom.

Rhitias seemed to realize that Spike was on the verge of exploding. “Every woman in town obeys my every whim now,” he repeated, “and that of any whom I…favor.” The implication was clear enough: don’t get on my bad side. “I effectively have the ability to make your Slayer love you.”

Spike caught him by the lapels of his robe and slammed him up against the wall. “Or I can jus’ kill you,” he said in a deadly whisper, “break your soddin’ spell, an’ get my Slayer that way.” His eyes flashed yellow.

“I can see several flaws in that plan,” Rhitias said calmly, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he had the fangs of a pissed off Master Vampire mere inches from his throat. “First,” his hand rose up against Spike’s chest, “I doubt you could kill me.” To emphasize this point, he pushed. Hard. Spike fell back against the floor at the demon’s surprising strength. “Second,” Rhitias moved over to the bar and poured a drink, “even if you _could_ kill me, it wouldn’t break my ‘sodding spell’.” He took out another glass and filled it as well. “And third…well, I hate to stick my nose into such a personal matter, but… The Slayer has been marked several times. Never by you. I take it she doesn’t…‘fancy’ you back?”

Spike numbly took the drink offered him.

“I thought as much,” Rhitias said with a sympathetic smile. “You’re not alone there, my friend. _Women_ are just so damned difficult.”

Spike looked him up and down and couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah,” he snorted derisively, downing his drink in one gulp, “’s a mystery why they aren’t crawlin’ over you.”

“You’d be surprised,” Rhitias countered. “In my youth I was quite the looker. Yet, I too learned the pain of unrequited love…”

~~~~~

 _A younger, slightly less chunky Rhitias nervously tightened the bowtie of his loud suit – a suit that looked like it had been stolen right out of Whistler’s closet. He wiped his sweaty palms dry on his pants before approaching the girl of his dreams…the clerk at his local demon Seven-Eleven._

 _“H-Hey, Larissa,” he began nervously, “want to go out for dinner this Friday?”_

 _“Sorry,” she gave him a brief smile, “but I have to wash my hair…”_

~~~~~

Rhitias sniffed at the still painful memory.

Spike resisted the urge to laugh. “Oh, yeah,” he grumbled under his breath, “ _real_ tragic…”

Rhitias seemed not to realize the sarcasm. “It was then that I decided that women were inherently wicked creatures,” he continued with his narrative. “They rip out your heart without a second thought.”

Spike couldn’t really argue with that last part. “So you decided to remake ‘em the way you wanted ‘em?” he surmised.

“Exactly!” Rhitias said with a proud smile. “The very crux of my plan!”

Spike made those little ‘cuckoo’ noises inside his head. “An’…then what? You stand up on a stool as say ‘nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah’?”

“No, don’t be silly,” the demon laughed. “I share my creations with the world. I’m a philanthropist, really.”

“For money.”

“For money,” Rhitias agreed. “Which reminds me: I don’t have a buyer for the Slayer anymore. You scared off her previous owner. He’s rather under the impression that you’ll castrate him if he goes near…Buffy? Is that her name?”

“Not a bad impression,” Spike responded coolly, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, well, now the word’s gotten out, and no one will touch her,” Rhitias said dismissively. “And, frankly, the demon population is jittery about the fact that you’re back in town.”

“So why don’t you kill me?” Spike asked curiously.

“Because, frankly, you’re worth more to me alive,” Rhitias replied. “I assume you _do_ have money, after all?”

Spike nodded.

The short demon gave him a favorable smile. “And, as an added bonus, I get you as an ally. Should be quite helpful in keeping the more volatile elements in check.”

“You want me to work for you?” Spike snorted in disbelief.

“Not at all,” Rhitias reassured him, “just the general knowledge that I control the one thing you want should suffice. After all, crossing me means crossing you, too. Now, shall we discuss terms?”

Before Spike could answer, Rhitias clapped his hands, and the most luscious creature Spike had ever laid eyes on entered the room.

It was Buffy, of course, dressed in an even more revealing costume than the night before. The general color was still gold, but those were only the thin lines of beads that covered the very tips of her sex. Elaborate embroidered patterns covered her breasts and the junction of her thighs just enough to give a hint as to what lay beneath. The beaded ensemble was toped by a full-length diaphanous robe of silver moonlight.

Spike found himself paralyzed once more. This was not good.

“She is exquisite,” Rhitias commented, studying her with a businessman’s eye. “I can see why you desire her. Buffy?” He gestured for her to come over, and she was at his side in an instant. “Why don’t you go… _play_ with our guest?” he suggested.

She turned to look at Spike for the first time and gave him the most seductive smile he’d ever seen in his existence. He audibly gulped as she approached with feline grace, only the tips of her toes touching the cold tile floor.

“Sorry about last night, baby,” she cooed in his ear, slipping her arms around his neck. “I didn’t know it was…all right.”

And then she was doing that ear-nibbling-neck-nuzzling thing again, and Spike lost the ability for coherent thought for quite some time.

“That’s enough, Buffy,” Rhitias instructed her just as she began worming her hand into Spike’s jeans.

He moaned in loss when she pulled away from him and returned to Rhitias’ side.

“I take it you are… _pleased_ with the merchandise?” Rhitias said with a knowing smile.

Spike couldn’t help but nod numbly.

“Excellent,” Rhitias clapped his hands together. “Then, I’m sure we’ll be able to work out a suitable… _arrangement_ …”


	3. Nightmare

“First of all,” Rhitias commented, reclining in his armchair once more, “I don’t want any trouble. We’re all in this together, so there’s no reason to make things difficult.”

Spike leaned back against the bar, poured himself another drink, and downed it in one gulp. It was all he could do to distract himself from the way Buffy stretched languidly across the divan next to him, her hand stroking the red satin seat beside her enticingly.

“An’ who’s ‘we all’ then?” Spike asked curiously.

“All my clients,” Rhitias responded matter-of-factly. “Pretty much everyone, really, since I have such a monopoly.”

“An’ no one’s causin’ trouble?” he looked at the short demon skeptically.

“Boys will be boys,” Rhitias shrugged, “and men have their needs…”

It didn’t sound quite plausible to Spike since _he_ was second-guessing this demon like crazy, and he didn’t even come remotely close to moral.

“Actually,” Rhitias commented, “I don’t care what you do, just so long as it’s not before this Saturday.”

“What ‘appens Saturday?” Spike asked casually.

Rhitias let out a delighted little peel of laughter. “The Grand Auction, so to speak,” he informed Spike with a wink. “I plan to make a _killing_. All those innocent little virgins I’ve been keeping locked up…”

The ‘Dawn’ pang of warning in the back of Spike’s head went off again. “Virgins?” he remained cool on the outside. “You’ve been keepin’ ‘em…”

“Unspoiled,” Rhitias nodded, “until Saturday, that is.”

Spike felt a strange knot twisting deep in his stomach at the thought. He called himself all kinds of a wanker for not delighting in this situation, but this odd chivalrous instinct had stuck in him when he had been turned, and it couldn’t _stand_ the thought. Even worse, it was his sweet, innocent Li’l Bit with her wide puppy-dog eyes and her trembling lower lip and that delighted smile that she alone gave him when he walked into a room…

He made a decision in that moment. He had promised to protect Dawn ‘till the end of the world’, and that was exactly what he was going to do, dammit, no matter what it took.

He forced a wicked smirk onto his lips. “Don’ s’pose there’s any chance of a…sneak-preview?” he asked Rhitias slyly, fighting back the convulsive fury that some nasty would be saying the same thing about his Nibblet for _real_ if he didn’t get her out of here.

Rhitias laughed. “Vampires,” he said, “such _insatiable_ creatures…” He paused for a moment, pondering Spike’s request and the added dollars he could ring in if the demon population didn’t have to worry about the vampire creating a bloodbath out of their little party. “For you,” he said with a gracious smile, “I’ll make an exception…”

* * *

Spike tried not to think of Buffy as he followed Rhitias through the darkened corridors at the very center of the estate. The demon had left her behind, seemingly convinced that Spike’s interest now lay elsewhere. Spike didn’t contradict this belief. He had a feeling that if Rhitias knew just how desperate he was for Buffy’s touch, he would never be able to get out from under his thumb.

Fortunately, his species’ almost perpetual horniness made his earlier reactions seem like nothing more than lust. Although Rhitias claimed to know love, Spike was quite confident by the way he acted that he had no idea of the true meaning of the word.

“And here we are.” Rhitias moved an antique key from the chain on his belt and unlocked the large iron-grated door. “Have to keep our valuable treasures locked up…” He winked at Spike.

Spike managed to return an evil smile.

“Now,” Rhitias said, ushering him into the newly exposed corridor, “do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

“Young,” Spike responded, “fourteen-to-fifteen-ish, real innocent.”

“That would be room three then,” Rhitias commented, opening the second door to their right. He gestured for Spike to enter first.

He did so and could barely fight back in urge to rip his companion limb from limb at the sight inside. Several dozen girls – _children_ , really – sat against the walls, dressed in scandalous clothing that their bodies had yet to grow into, staring blankly at the opposite walls without a ‘master’ to order them around like cheap play toys.

He scanned the room quickly, looking for the telltale shock of brunette hair and sweet round face. She was in the back of the room, looking just as dead as all the others, not even reacting when he knelt in front of her and wiped an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He felt his heart breaking at the sight of her like this.

“Pretty one, isn’t she?” Rhitias commented disinterestedly.

Spike let out a sigh of relief. Given Rhitias’ lack of knowledge of even Buffy’s name, he had hoped the demon wouldn’t put two and two together and realize that he knew Dawn. That could complicate matters and blow his cover. It looked like his bet had paid off, though.

“She doesn’t react,” he said off-handedly, trying to keep the venom from his voice.

“She hasn’t been properly programmed yet,” Rhitias responded, “not like the Slayer. With the young ones… Well, let’s just say that every customer tends to have a different ‘ideal’. I can give several sets of standard commands that should be able to give you just what you’re looking for…if you’re interested, that is. There’s always the Slayer, too…”

Spike frowned and looked up at the demon curiously.

“It occurs to me,” Rhitias said with a small smile, “that in the interest of courtesy, I’d be willing to give you one little freebie. If you’re still interested, you can attend the auction just like everyone else… Yes, I think that’s a good way to, er… _guarantee_ that you’ll help me keep the peace.”

Spike swore inwardly. His plan consisted of getting both Buffy and Dawn out of here now. If he had to leave one behind… The demon was smarter than he thought, Spike decided. And he wasn’t about to give up the only control he had over Spike.

A decision it was then. And, although it pained him to make it, there really only was one choice he could make.

“’ll take her,” Spike said, gesturing to Dawn.

Rhitias raised an eyebrow in surprise. Spike hoped that the demon had just decided that he really didn’t care about the Slayer all that much. It would make it so much easier for him to retrieve her that way.

“Yes,” Rhitias studied Dawn for a second, “I suppose I can see the appeal… Girl,” he addressed Dawn, “what’s your name?”

“Dawn.” Dawn’s voice was cold and dead, and Spike knew in that instant that he had indeed made the right choice.

Buffy was strong. Buffy had faced much worse…although never on so personal a level. Buffy would survive whatever happened to her here. But Dawn…

He couldn’t bear it if she were destroyed by this.

“Get up, Dawn,” Rhitias ordered.

She rose to her feet like an automaton, and Spike moved to stand beside her.

Rhitias fiddled about in his pocket and finally found a small green gem. He showed it to a curious Spike before he moved over to Dawn and inserted the stone in the golden collar she wore.

“Necessary for reprogramming,” Rhitias explained calmly as Dawn’s eyes glazed over. “Dawn,” he informed her, “Spike is your master now. You are to everything he asks.”

“Yes, Rhitias,” Dawn responded.

Rhitias carefully removed the gem and placed it back in his pocket.

“How’m I s’posed to…reprogram,” Spike fought not to spit out the word, “then?”

Rhitias smiled. “We’ll get you a key for this one,” he reassured him. “This is the master key.”

Spike’s eyes intentionally avoided Rhitias’ pocket. _Step One_ , he formulated in his head, _steal master key…preferably without getting killed in the process._

“She has several base commands that you can’t alter without the key,” Rhitias began to explain as they made their way out of the inner harem.

Spike itched to give Dawn a comforting pat, but figured that if his Nibblet was deep down in there somewhere, aware of what was going on, it might freak her out rather than reassure her.

“The most primary is ‘obey Rhitias’,” Rhitias went on with the standard instructions. “That one you can’t change…and extra security measure, if you will, just in case one of the other commands has unintended side-effects.”

“ ‘Unintended side-effects’?” Spike inquired.

Rhitias sighed. “Some, er…control games involve the master giving up his ability to command. There have been accidents when buyers haven’t taken proper precautions beforehand.”

“So you keep the ultimate control to prevent ‘accidents’,” Spike surmised. _And to keep all buyers under your control, as well…_

Rhitias nodded. “Everything else you can override,” he informed Spike. “Right now she’s really not instructed to do much but be your servant. I imagine you’ll want to _edit_ that a bit?” He gave Spike a knowing smile.

Spike forced one onto his own lips as well and entered the door Rhitias had just opened for him. Miraculously, it led right back to the demon’s office. Spike frowned. He’d been trying to memorize the layout of this place so he could sneak back in later, but the rooms seemed to move around. He was pretty sure a confusion spell had been cast over the building. That meant that he needed a new plan…

Buffy was still in the office where they’d left her. She gave him a coy smile and sidled right up against him, her cheek rubbing into the leather of his duster and her hands slipping about his waist.

He moaned.

Rhitias turned back from his desk to look at the scene before him with amusement. “She really is quite talented. You may want to bid on her yet…”

Spike nodded slowly and allowed himself, for one moment, to nuzzle Buffy’s soft, vanilla-scented hair. She let out a heady breath against his throat, and for a second he couldn’t remember why he was giving this up…

 _Because it’s not really Buffy_ , his mind reminded him. _Not to mention the Nibblet. Just look at what this monster’s done to her…_

Reluctantly, he pulled from Buffy’s warm embrace and walked over to Rhitias’ desk.

“So, this auction?” he began. “When an’ where?”

“Saturday at midnight,” Rhitias responded. “Here, on the back lawn.”

“An’ exactly where is ‘here’?” Spike inquired. “’S not like I was takin’ notes when I came…”

Rhitias scribbled on a piece of paper. “Time and address,” he informed Spike, handing it over, “and…” He removed a small white crystal from a locked desk drawer. “Let’s get this thing set up, shall we? I imagine you’re a bit weary after the busy evening you’ve had…”

“Can say that again,” Spike responded automatically, fighting back the lingering human instinctual habit to yawn. The emotional roller coaster he’d been on for the past few hours had definitely taken a lot out of him.

Rhitias put the clear crystal into Dawn’s collar and then removed the green one from the pouch in his pocket. He touched the two together, and the clear crystal turned a deep red color.

“There,” he said satisfactorily, putting the green crystal back in his possession. “Now, be careful what you say when you’ve got the key in,” he instructed Spike. “I’ve got a pamphlet here of ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s.” He handed Spike a folded sheet of paper from his desk.

“Instruction manual an’ everything…” Spike mumbled under his breath, sickened at the way this demon was treating _his_ Sweet Bit as nothing more than a piece of property.

“Come here, Dawn,” Rhitias instructed. She obeyed and removed the key from her collar and put it into one of the empty pouches he kept on his desk for this very purpose. “Don’t lose the key,” he instructed Spike, handing the pouch over. “There’s a nasty little replacement fee.”

“How nice,” Spike responded non-committally, dropping the pouch into his duster pocket.

“She’s yours now,” Rhitias said with the best car-salesman smile Spike had ever seen. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He gestured to Buffy, and she was instantly at his side, her hand stroking the thin comb-over at the top of his head.

Spike gritted his teeth at this violation to his Slayer.

“And,” Rhitias continued, seemingly oblivious to Spike’s reaction, “I’ll trust we’ll see you at the auction?”

“Oh, yeah,” Spike agreed, looking Buffy in the eyes. “’ll _definitely_ be comin’ back for you, luv…” He put enough innuendo into the phrase that Rhitias wouldn’t suspect that something was up. He hoped that Buffy – the _real_ Buffy, if she could hear him – would get his message.

“C’mon, Dawn,” he said, taking her arm gently, “let’s go home…”

* * *

Rhitias had obliging provided them with a ride back to Buffy’s house. Spike had insisted that he wanted to pick up his bike there, mostly because he didn’t like the idea of Rhitias knowing where he lived. Although, if the demon were half as astute as the sheer inescapability of his plan indicated, he probably already knew the location of Spike’s crypt.

Dawn was silent for the entire ride. Spike had ordered her straight off to just sit still and be quiet. It made his heart hurt to order her around like a slave, but he didn’t think he’d be able to take if she started coming onto him like a cheap whore. Not his Li’l Bit…

He let himself into the Slayer’s house first when they arrived, but only after making sure that Rhitias’ ride had vanished. He led Dawn upstairs to her room, found a sensible outfit for her complete with _comfortable_ looking undergarments, and ordered her to put it on.

In the meantime, he searched around for the old motorcycle helmet Dawn had used on the few occasions Buffy’d given her permission to ride with him. He found it on the floor near the front door and quickly returned upstairs, asking if Dawn was dressed through the closed door before entering. The Nibblet was going to get every bit of privacy she wanted from now on after having to put up with that hellhole, dammit…

He had her put on his leather duster as well as the helmet, just to make sure. After all, the jacket had survived twenty plus years on the back of an active vampire; it should offer her decent protection in case of accident.

The ride to his crypt and cold and silent and lonely, despite the fact that she hugged his waist tightly just like he’d ordered.

 _Not much longer_ , he repeated over and over again in his head, _soon she’ll be back to her darling, stubborn self…_

He quickly stored his Triumph in the shed he ‘borrowed’ from the cemetery custodian, and within minutes they were in the safety of his crypt.

He breathed out an unnecessary sigh of relief before checking to make sure there was nothing here that shouldn’t be. He absentmindedly wondered when he’d gotten so paranoid and decided it probably happened right around the time the secret government organization kidnapped and ran experiments on him. That sort of thing tended to leave one a wee bit cautious…

“Coast is clear,” he finally said into the empty silence of his crypt. It was a relief just to hear his own voice. There was something fundamentally _wrong_ about being around Dawn and _not_ having the constant chatter that accompanied her. “C’mon, Bit,” he gestured over to her, “let’s do this downstairs.”

She followed him in that mindless state of hers and sat on the edge of the bed when he indicated that she should do so.

“Now,” he said, removing the precious pouch from his pocket, “let’s get you fixed up right again…”

He carefully inserted the red gem into the collar, double checking the instructions to make sure he was doing everything right. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that what he was about to do was right at the top of the ‘don’t’ list.

“OK, Dawn,” he said when he was sure everything was working right, “it’s me, Spike. You obey everythin’ I say, right?”

“Yes, master,” she said in a dull monotone.

Spike flinched at the title. He added several dozen creative ways to kill Rhitias to his constantly-growing list.

“So ‘ere’s my order then,” he said clearly and distinctly. “I order you to act _exactly_ like you ordinarily would,” he instructed. He briefly considered adding the proviso that she absolutely _had_ to listen to him when he told her to stay put and out of danger, but decided that that would be a grievous lapse in their trust and friendship. “You don’ take _any_ more orders from me unless you want to. You jus’ be the same Dawn you always are…” He sat back when he finished his command.

For a second nothing happened, and he grew worried. But then that fog in her eyes seemed to clear, and she blinked and looked – really _looked_ – at him for the first time.

“Spike?” she whispered in a weak little voice.

“Hey there, Platelet,” he said softly, giving her a shy smile.

“Oh, Spike…” She practically tackled him back onto the bed, wrapping her arms around him desperately and sobbing into his chest like there was no tomorrow.

He actually flinched slightly at how tightly she was hugging his ribs, the proud thought ‘ _my Bit’s getting strong_ ’ flitting through his mind. “Shh,” he hushed her, stroking her hair gently and rubbing circles into the small of her back, “’s OK, princess. Spike’s here now. No one’s gonna hurt my Sweet Bit…”

She calmed with his reassuring words, now only sniffling occasionally into his shirt. It was his favorite one, too, and he didn’t even care right then if it got ruined. _You’re such a nancy-boy…_

“You OK, Sweetness?” he murmured softly into her ear. “They didn’t ‘urt you, did they? T-Touch you?” This last thought was almost too horrible for him to express.

She shook her head ‘no’, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I got you,” he continued to sooth her, petting her hair in a regular rhythm. “I got you now, and ‘m not lettin’ them take you ever again…”

“Spike?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

“Yeah, Nibblet?”

“It was so horrible, Spike,” she whimpered. “I could see everything that was going on, and I couldn’t do a thing about it… I couldn’t control my own body.” She began crying anew.

“’S over now,” he insisted. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

“God, am I glad you came,” she laughed between her sobs. “I was waiting and waiting and waiting, and I was just sure Buffy would come for me, and then she didn’t and… Spike, she’s still there! We have to—”

“Hush,” he whispered softly into her hair. “We’ll get ‘er out of there, don’ you worry. An’ then you can watch me rip that filthy Rhitias fella to shreds for you.”

She couldn’t help but smile up at him at that.

“There’s my Li’l Bit,” he said fondly, wiping away the few tears that lingered on her cheeks with his thumb. “Always knew you were a strong one…”

“Spike, what are we—?” She broke off mid-sentence for a yawn.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he instructed her. “You rest up, OK? ‘ll take care ‘f everythin’.” He pulled back the soft white sheets on his bed and patted the mattress, indicating that she should lie down.

“OK,” she agreed softly, excessively weary from her recent trauma.

“There’s a good princess,” he said, cupping her cheek as she snuggled down into his pillows. “You jus’ sleep and ol’ Spike’ll make everything better.”

“Spike?” she whispered softly as sleep began to overcome her.

“Mmm?”

“Don’t leave me alone.” Her voice sounded so frightened…

“’ll be right here the entire time,” he reassured her.

She caught hold of his hand in hers, binding him to this promise, and finally fell asleep.

Fiddling around in his travelling bag, he pulled his cell-phone from the side pocket. Spike knew one thing for certain. If he was going to get his girls out of this mess, he was going to need all the help he could get…


	4. Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream

Dawn finally awoke, feeling as if she’d slept for days. For a long time, she just lay there, curled up against the comforting form of her surrogate big brother, listening to him talk softly to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He was obviously trying to carry on an argument while simultaneously trying not to wake her.

Dawn smiled slightly at the way his voice abruptly cut off every time before it went into ‘yell’ mode, before she finally decided to take pity on him. With a long yawn, she opened her eyes and gave him a curious look.

He gave her an apologetic smile before taking instant advantage of her new awakened state to scream into the receiver. “There. Is. A. Spell!” he exclaimed, flabbergasted. “The whole bloody town’s out! _No one’s_ standin’ around, waitin’ to give you their precious money!”

Ah, that would be Anya at the other end then…

He paused for a second before he rolled his eyes for Dawn’s benefit. “Fine, fine,” he sighed in exasperation, “we’ll put your bleedin’ website up on th’ door, jus’ in case someone wants to order…” Another brief pause. “No, Dawn is _not_ available to run the damn shop! What part of ‘evil spell’ are you not gettin’, Anyanka?”

Spike’s expression eased, and Dawn guessed that Anya’s capitalist instincts were finally giving way.

“Yes, we’ll put up the sign,” he insisted. Pause. “Soon.” Another pause. Another eye roll. “ _Real_ soon,” he stressed. “I promise.” Pause. “Fine, on my unbeatin’ heart.” Sigh of irritation. “By the scrolls of Xanthanar,” he agreed. “Look, ‘ve got to get hold of the Watcher, like _now_ ,” he said before Anya could make him put up his duster as collateral or something else equally as horrible. “We’ll keep an eye on the wares. Ta.”

He pressed the off button even as Dawn heard Anya prattling on through the receiver once more.

Spike let his head fall backwards against the headboard of the bed a couple of times in frustration.

Dawn tisked him lightly. “Trying to negotiate with Anya,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you know better by now?”

He sighed and glanced nervously at the phone as if Anya were about to leap out of it and chew him out for whatever capital gains losses she might incur this quarter. “’ad to warn her, din’t I?” he insisted. “She an’ the Whelp were comin’ back today…”

“You think the spell would’ve kicked in on Anya?” Dawn asked curiously.

“I ‘ave no bleedin’ clue what the spell would’ve done, but the last thing I need is to save the Demon Bint, too…”

“Haven’t you called Giles yet?” she demanded. “Doesn’t he know how to break the spell? Why can’t you just break it for everyone like you did for me? Why—?”

“Nibblet, please,” he cut her off and closed his eyes, rubbing at the pulsing vein on his temple with one hand.

She bit her lip and got a bit teary-eyed.

“Oh, not like that, Sweet Bit,” he said, instantly apologetic. “’S just…’ve got so much to worry ‘bout, an’…”

“It’s OK,” Dawn sniffled a little bit. “I’ll just stay out of your way then, so you can do whatever it is you have to do, and—”

“Oh, fine!” Spike rolled his eyes. “You can help.”

“Really?!” She bounced on the mattress in delight.

“Really,” Spike repeated, cursing those big green puppy-dog eyes of hers.

“This is _so_ cool!” Dawn exclaimed, giving him an impulsive hug.

“Yeah, yeah.” Spike was very annoyed to discover that he had subconsciously begun purring when she hugged him. It was, unfortunately, one of those reactions that he couldn’t control.

She at least had the decency not to refer to his embarrassing state. “So, what do I do?” she asked, bright-eyed and ready to go.

“Recovered quickly from our trauma, did we?” he teased lightly before handing her the phone. “Here,” he said. “Call the Watcher. Let ‘im know everythin’ you remember. Make sure the Witches don’ come back until we know ‘s safe.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Dawn asked curiously.

“Sleep,” he insisted, snatching the blanket out from under her and wrapping it around himself. “Bleedin’ uncivilized hour ta be up…” he grumbled under his breath, burying his face in the pillow and closing his eyes.

“It’s ten in the morning,” she pointed out.

“Uncivilized for a _vampire_ ,” he clarified before shutting his eyes again.

She watched him for a second as he tried to sleep, then shrugged at hit Giles’ home number on the speed dial.

Her fingers played idly with the sheets on Spike’s bed while the phone rang one, two, three, four times.

“’lo?” The sleepy voice just barely beat the fifth ring.

“Hi, Giles!” Dawn said cheerfully.

“D-Dawn?” he said, confused for a second. Then, angrily: “Do you have _any_ idea what time it is here?!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that late,” she insisted, “unless you were doing something icky I don’t want to hear about…”

“Dawn,” he managed in his sternest voice, “this is a very bad time. Call back later.”

“Sure,” she commented off-handedly. “I just wanted to let you know that Buffy had her tongue down Spike’s throat last night, but since you’re so busy and all…” She trailed off and held the receiver away from her ear while she giggled.

“ _What_?!” Giles’ voice exclaimed in pure, unadulterated horror. “Dawn, Dawn are you there?!”

She took her time putting the phone back to her ear. “Yeah?” she said disinterestedly.

“What did you just say?” he demanded.

“Buffy had her tongue down Spike’s throat,” she repeated clearly and concisely. “She might’ve had her hand in his pants, too, but I couldn’t really see from the angle, and—”

“Dawn, you fully have my attention now,” Giles assured her. “Now, _please_ , tell me it’s just a spell.”

“It’s just a spell,” she informed him. “Get this; you will _so_ not believe it…”

Spike listened half-heartedly as Dawn catalogued the events of the past few days, mildly bemused when her story reached the point where he arrived. It was nice to know that _someone_ appreciated him, even if it did hamper his image as an evil creature of the night to be running off to be his Bit’s knight in shinning armor all the time…

He flinched inwardly at Dawn’s description of Cuddly-Sex-Kitten-Buffy pawing all over him, the memories still far too tempting in his mind. And, maybe the Nibblet hadn’t seen clearly, but, yes, her hand _had_ gotten inside his jeans, and the way she had begun to slowly stroke him up and down…

“I don’t know,” Dawn commented into the receiver. “Hey, Spike,” she turned to him, “how do you spell ‘Rhitias’?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Sweetness,” he shrugged disinterestedly.

“Um…how about R-I-T-Y-U-S?” Dawn suggested.

Spike sighed. “OK, so maybe my guess is _slightly_ better…”

She stuck her tongue out at him and held out the phone to him. “You talk to Giles then, if you’re so smart,” she countered.

He found the phone thrust into his hands before he could protest. “Yeah, er, so, um, Rupert…” he began.

He tossed the phone onto the far side of the bed as if it were a cross when a stream of enraged, British invective exploded from the receiver. Dawn giggled at him as he put the pillow over his head to block out the noise.

He swore these people had to be the most inconsiderate lots of whelps in the world. I mean, vampire hearing? How hard is that to remember?

Of course, maybe their goal was to make him go deaf by the ripe young age of four hundred…

“…And if I find out you’re touched Buffy in any way, so help me, Spike, you will find out just how painful it is to have every limb ripped from your body one at a time. And I’m sure you can guess where I’ll start!” Giles’ tirade finished on the other end.

Spike flinched at the mental image and cautiously picked up the receiver. “Din’t touch ‘er,” he sulked slightly, enjoying a mild pity party for how unappreciated all his hard sacrifices really were.

“I meant every word of it, Spike.” Oh yeah, Ripper was out it full force today…

“Yeah, right,” Spike rolled his eyes, taking full advantage of all the oceans and continents currently separating himself from Giles’ wrath. “So, what d’you know ‘bout this spell?”

Giles let out a weary sigh and somehow managed to convey over the phone that he was cleaning his glasses. “Frankly,” he admitted, “I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“Me neither,” Spike agreed. “An’ somethin’ this big… It would’ve gotten out.”

“So this is probably a larger scale than this Rhitias has ever tried before,” Giles agreed.

“Can I use that to my advantage?” Spike demanded, batting Dawn away from his journal.

She evaded his grasp and snatched up the notebook defiantly, flipping through it at the edge of the bed, just out of his reach.

“It’s too early to tell yet,” Giles decided. “I’ll get Willow and Tara to help me research it. In the meantime, your priority must be to keep Buffy and Dawn as safe as possible.”

“No one’s gettin’ my Bit away from me,” Spike growled possessively. “Buffy, though…”

“Find a way to get to her,” Giles’ voice barely concealed the pleading tone at the plight of the woman he thought of as his daughter. “If that… _monster_ touches her…”

Spike had no doubt it would be ten times worse that what Giles had just threatened to do to him. He wouldn’t get a chance, though, because Spike would have tortured the demon to the point where he couldn’t even remember his name by then.

He expressed this view to Giles, and the former Watcher seemed to approve.

“Here,” Spike finally said, halting Dawn’s chuckles as she went through his personal, private thoughts. “Watcher wants ta talk to you again.”

Dawn put down the journal, stuck her tongue out at Spike when he swapped it from her lap, and began talking to Giles again.

“No, I’m fine. Really,” she insisted. Pause. “I’ve got the bleached wonder taking care of me.” Eye roll. “Yeah, he’s got me cooped up in that musty old crypt of his.” Longer pause. Slight trembling of the lip before strength and resolve took over her face once more. _That’s my Bit…_ “Nah,” she batted one hand in the air dismissively, “aside from the pure ‘ew’ factor of now being the sexual property of my babysitter, it’s cool.” A breath. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. You, too. Yes, I’ll tell him. Bye!” She hit the off button and moved to lie back down beside Spike.

“I am _not_ your babysitter!” he huffed.

“Yeah,” Dawn smiled, pillowing her head against his shoulder, “more like the baby.”

“Oi!”

“And you never told me Buffy kissed you,” she accused, gesturing to the notebook now on the bedside table.

“Er, that was just…creative writing?” he suggested nervously.

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Oh, bugger!” He rolled his eyes heavenwards even though he knew he wouldn’t find any help in that direction. “Was just a li’l peck,” he insisted.

“Two.”

“All right, two.”

“On the _lips_.”

“Bit,” he sighed, “’was after that whole gettin’ tortured by Glory bit, an’ then after I fell off that tower for you. Jus’ kinda…repayment, thanks… Y’know?”

“Buffy’s whoring herself off for your help?” Dawn teased.

“’S not like that!” he protested. “You’re twistin’ my words again, an’ you’re doin’ it on purpose!”

She gave him a smug smile but then bit her lower lip nervously. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

“Very much, Morsel.”

“Me, too,” Dawn admitted softly. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“How are we going to get her back?”

“Don’ know, princess. Don’ know…”

* * *

Of course, the one thing Spike _hadn’t_ taken into consideration when he’d said that to Dawn was the fact that the universe took every opportunity given it to completely screw him over. It came that evening in the form of one of Rhitias’ ‘associates’, a leggy brunette that obviously wouldn’t be caught dead with the greasy little demon were she in full possession of her faculties.

Her message was brief, but strange.

Soon he – and a Dawn in ‘pretend slave’ motif – arrived at Buffy’s home on Revello Drive to discuss the ‘business’ matter that Rhitias insisted was so pressing.

Spike had no doubt who exactly awaited him the other side of the door – other than Rhitias, that was – and mentally braced himself for what he would find inside.

It wasn’t enough.

Buffy was wearing the essential equivalent to a red thong bikini. A black button down shirt hung from her elbows, barely on and _exactly_ in the style he liked. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it had been purloined from his dresser.

It was her location that got to him, however. She was leaning back against the stairs, one of her feet curving around the banister railing at the bottom of the steps, the fingers of one hand toying playfully with a lock of her golden hair.

Now, certain of his favorite fantasies involved the two of them, that night before the final battle with Glory when she’d stood right where she was now and invited him back in, her immediate desire thereafter to find out just how much of a ‘man’ he really was, and many hours of bliss spent together right on those stairs.

He bit his tongue and tried to think the least sexy thoughts he could. Once he got down to Xander and Angel wearing nothing but Speedos in bed together, he decided he could just take one more peek at Buffy to recover from that particularly repulsive mental image, and then had to start all over again.

“Ah, Spike,” Rhitias said in delight, rising from the living room couch. “Such a delight to see you again.”

“Mutual.” Spike didn’t think he’d ever spouted a bigger lie in all his life.

“How’s the girl turning out?” he asked curiously, gesturing in Dawn’s direction. “Er…” he struggled for a name.

“Dawn,” Spike provided.

“Yes, Dawn.” Rhitias noticed her conservative attire and gave Spike a quizzical look.

“Don’ like jus’ anyone oglin’ my women,” he explained quickly. After all, it _was_ the truth…

“Ah,” Rhitias nodded in acknowledgement. “Come, sit down. I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”

Spike managed to pull himself away from the lure of Nearly-Naked-Buffy-On-Staircase and sat down in the armchair across from the demon.

Dawn, for her part, did a very good job playing the meek, little servant and leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen, waiting.

“Talk,” Spike went for the direct, lighting up the cigarette between his lips.

“I believe I am still correct in thinking that you are interested in our lovely young Slayer here?” Rhitias took the roundabout route, gesturing to Buffy.

“Maybe.”

“Then you’re the perfect choice for this mission,” Rhitias said in delight.

“ ‘Mission’?”

Rhitias nodded solemnly. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, not even my estates are large enough to provide accommodations for all my girls…”

“And?” Spike was hoping the bad ass, one-word-reply thing would eventually have some effect.

“Well, they’ve all got homes of their own, you see,” the demon explained, “so I can just save on the space and let them live at home.”

“Yeah?” It didn’t look like the demon was even noticing.

“The Slayer is one of those I’d like to stay at home. Less fuss that way, you see. Unfortunately, this means that I can’t keep an eye on her. I’ll need someone to be here in my absence…just in case, of course,” he finished.

“An’ you want _me_ ta do it?” Spike asked in disbelief. “Bloody ‘ell! You already _know_ I want ta sample the wares, mate!”

“You would be compensated for your work, of course,” Rhitias agreed. “Buffy, dear?” he called her over. “I find,” he informed Spike as Buffy settled up against his side, “that exclusive privilege is an excellent motivating factor for keeping my girls well-guarded.”

He gestured for Buffy to go over to Spike, and before he could protest, he had himself a lap full of squirming, kittenish Slayer.

“Uh-huh,” Spike said, half in a daze.

“It’s only until the auction,” Rhitias assured him. “Then someone else will take the Slayer off your hands…unless you purchase her, of course.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, you’ll agree to it then?” Rhitias said with a satisfied smile on his face. _This should keep the volatile vampire out of my hair until the auction…_

“Uh-huh,” Spike nodded numbly, mesmerized by the way her long, golden hair curtained her face as she looked down at him with that mischievous look in her eyes.

“Excellent! I’ll be leaving you two… _three_ ,” he amended when he remembered Dawn, “to get acquainted then.”

The implications of what he’d just agreed to finally reached Spike’s brain. “Don’ I get a key for this one, too?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. If he could get the Slayer back to her fighting self again…

“Sorry,” Rhitias said with a small smile, “that’s only for final purchases.” He took the arm of the brunette that had led Spike there. “Good luck, then,” he said with a final wave as he walked out the door, “and _enjoy_.”

He shut the door, and then Buffy was on Spike in full force, her lips demanding against his…


	5. Directed Dreaming

Spike moaned as Buffy’s tongue wrapped around his own, enticing it into an erotic dance. Her hands were on his shoulders and in his hair and on his back, his thighs…practically everywhere at once. With a wicked little smile against his lips, she ground her hips hard against his straining erection, bringing them into perfect alignment…if only there were no clothes separating them.

Somewhere _way_ in the back of Spike’s mind, he was aware of the fact that he was supposed to be resisting. This wasn’t the real Buffy, and this was taking advantage, and the Watcher would torture him, and yadda-yadda-yadda…

The very real prospect of an aroused and willing Buffy in his lap quickly dispelled such pesky notions, however.

He caught her about the waist firmly and kissed her with renewed vigor and desperation, and…

Heard a pointed cough.

He pulled back for a second, his mind still in a haze.

Cough.

There it was again. He looked around, confused, and quickly came across the image of a very pissed-off looking Dawn.

 _Oh, right. Spell. Making Buffy want him. Bad spell…_ She flicked the tip of her tongue into his ear. _Good spell… No wait, bad!_

It took every ounce of strength he had to remove Buffy’s arms from the back of his neck and lift those soft, round hips from his. By the time he’d got her sitting down on the couch across for him, his chest was heaving with unnecessary gasps and he was confident his zipper would split.

“Do you need to, like, go into the bathroom for a while or something?” Dawn teased him as she nabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and bit into it.

He scowled at her and grabbed a throw pillow, using it to cover up the more embarrassing regions of his anatomy.

“Spike,” Buffy cooed through fluttering eyelashes. “C’mere, lover…”

“I can’t work with… _that_!” Spike insisted, putting his head in his hands.

Instantly, Buffy was behind him, rubbing small circles into his shoulders and kneading the knots there.

“Mmm, tha’s nice, pet,” he commented softly. “Jus’ a li’l bit lower… Yeah, _there_ …”

Dawn coughed again.

“Right,” Spike snapped back to attention, “so, er…um…”

“We need to call Giles,” she rolled her eyes and took up the logical thinking for the both of them. “There must be _some_ way to get Buffy normal again…”

“I could do it ‘f that ponce’d left her key,” Spike complained.

“Is there any way we can get it?” Dawn asked hopefully.

Spike shook his head. “’S in that estate ‘f his, all locked up with magic and whatnot. I don’t think we’d stand much of a chance…”

“Well, we have to get it somehow,” Dawn insisted, “because, frankly, Sex-Toy-Buffy’s starting to freak me out…”

“’m with you on that one,” Spike agreed, “although she does give nice backrubs…”

“I can rub more than your back, if you’d like,” Buffy whispered huskily in his ear. “Why don’t we go upstairs, baby…”

“Er, yeah,” Spike abruptly jolted up and away from certain temptation. “So we need to get that key. ‘m sure we could take Rhitias down ‘f Buffy could help us…”

“It’s a vicious circle,” Dawn sighed. “We need the key to get Buffy, and we need Buffy to get the key.”

“Maybe the Watcher’ll come up with a counterspell,” Spike said hopefully. “Then we can jus’ kick demon ass an’ be back to normal…eep!”

This last sound was the effect of Buffy decided that demon ass looked very nice indeed and surreptitiously giving it a little pitch. She molded her body against his backside.

“I’m ready whenever you are, handsome,” she said in a sultry voice.

“Dawn, help!” Spike gulped.

“Buffy, Giles, and I will all kill you simultaneously if you do it,” Dawn provided, “and I won’t ever tape ‘Passions’ for you again.”

“Thanks, Bit,” he nodded and maneuvered himself around the couch so that he and Buffy were on opposite sides.

“You know what we _could_ do…” Dawn said thoughtfully.

“What?” Spike was desperate for any plan right about now because his Slayer was laying back of the couch, running one long, bare, golden leg across the couch back so that her toes just barely brushed against his fingers there. She gave him a coy, eager smile. He gulped and adjusted his jeans awkwardly.

Dawn went on as if Buffy’s latest little seduction had never even occurred. After all, quick adaptation to bizarre situations was a life skill on the Hellmouth. “We could wait until _after_ the auction,” she suggested. “We could, er…buy Buffy, and then we’d get the key, and voila! Dead Rhitias!”

“Auction’s not for a couple more days, Bit,” Spike pointed out.

“So? We kill Rhitias a couple days later then,” Dawn said logically. “I think it’s a workable plan. We should buy her.”

“And by ‘we’, you of course mean ‘me’ since you don’ ‘ave any money,” Spike sulked.

“But you do, right?” Dawn asked. “Plus, if we kill Rhitias then we don’t have to pay him. You can keep your money.”

Spike sighed. It actually _was_ a decent plan…and exactly what Rhitias intended. That alone made him want to rail against it, but most especially…

“Mmm…” Buffy’s leg caught him around the waist and pulled her to him. She sat up against his body, and her fingers teasingly toyed with his fly. “This all for me?” she whispered enticingly, stroking the hardness she found there.

Spike groaned. “There’s no way ‘m gonna be able to put up with _this_ ,” he deftly removed Buffy’s hand from inside his waistband, “for days on end,” he presented his best argument against Dawn’s plan.

Dawn frowned slightly. “There’s gotta be a way to make her stop doing that,” she commented, watching Spike half-heartedly trying to extricate himself from Buffy’s latest advances. “Can you give her _any_ orders?” she asked curiously. “Just so she’s not, you know, jumping you every five minutes?”

Spike decided it was _definitely_ worth a shot. “Buffy-luv?” he inquired, distracting her attention from the absolutely marvelous way she was stroking his inner thigh.

“Yes, Spike?” she replied, eager to please.

“Whaddaya say we play a little game, Slayer?” he suggested.

“Whatever you want,” she agreed readily enough.

“Good,” he said, “’s called playin’ hard to get.”

Buffy frowned slightly in confusion. “I haven’t been given instruction in that game,” she informed him.

“Don’ worry,” he assured her, “you’re a natural at it,” he grumbled under his breath. “You jus’ wait for me to come to you, and if—er, _when_ I do, you pretend like you’re not interested. Got it, pet?”

She thought about it for a second. “You want to seduce me?” she finally guessed.

“Close enough,” he agreed. “You up?”

“You are,” she giggled softly, running her hand right down the center of his chest to…

“Remember the game, luv?” he whimpered softly.

“Ooh, right!” Buffy moved her hand away the instant she remembered. “If you want me, you’ll have to come to me,” she informed him in a monotone tone that was frighteningly similar to Anya’s, “and then I’ll pretend that I don’t want to have sex with you. But I do, of course, because who could _not_ want to have sex with—”

“Tha’s enough!” Spike held one hand up. “Tha’s good, pet,” he spared her a small smile.

She beamed back at him and headed upstairs to wait for Spike to come to her.

“Whew!” Spike breathed a sigh of relief.

“We should call Giles now,” Dawn decided. “We’ll use your cell since our long-distance bill is expensive enough as it is. Also, you’ll need to get your money for the auction…”

“You have _any_ idea how much of a mooch you are, ducks?” he asked rhetorically.

“Oh yeah,” she said with a sly grin, “I’d like pizza for dinner. You can buy me one…”

* * *

A pizza complete with numerous veggie toppings arrived less than an hour later, and the three of them sat around the table, devouring its cheesy goodness.

Of course, Buffy had been awkward to persuade to eat, and that was putting it mildly.

When Spike had gone up to tell her that the food was there, she’d first insisted on ‘playing hard to get’ and had refused to eat. Spike had then had to declare that the game was over so that she’d do what he said. She’d been upon him again in an instant and had actually maneuvered him back onto the mattress when Dawn had walked in wondering what was taking so long.

One look at the scene, and she was rolling her eyes and complaining about how utterly hopeless Spike was. However, with her help, Spike had finally come up with a command that got Buffy downstairs and eating. Namely, “I like birds with a bit ‘f meat to ‘em. You’d better eat up, Slayer.”

He was currently wondering if they should keep the spell up just long enough that she’d no longer be so stick thin. Unfortunately, her ultra-healthy diet had allowed some of her more luscious curves to flatten out over the years…

Dawn had informed him that the idea failed the Buffy Test Of Morality, and he’d left it at that.

So now they were left sitting over the dregs of pizza, waiting for Giles to call from England. His rather irritated response when they’d called him earlier had been “wait an hour, and I’ll call you.” Spike was currently calculating whether the headache from the chip would be worth giving the Watcher one good slap upside the head. The equations weren’t currently working in Giles’ favor.

Having fully fulfilled the command of “eat a _real_ meal for once,” Buffy switched to more entertaining pursuits, nibbling softly at Spike’s ear and playing with his hair while he and Dawn played cards. This whole ‘hard to get’ thing was confusing for her, but for now Spike didn’t seem to be complaining. She was just about to suggest that they go up to bed when the phone rang.

She promptly backed off when he picked up the receiver. After all, when men were involved in important business, it was the woman’s job to sit quietly and non-distractingly off to the side…

“’Bout time,” Spike groused the instant he heard Giles’ voice at the other end. “She’s drivin’ me up the wall.”

“Er…yes,” Giles audibly flinched. “But we have managed to trace the source of the spell…”

“We?”

“Hi, Spike!” Willow’s voice came over the other end.

“Y-Yeah, hi,” Tara’s quieter voice echoed.

“Speaker phone?” Spike guessed.

“Yup!”

The witches sounded way too cheerful. Spike wondered if he would sound that cheerful if he ever got a vacation. He decided it was a moot point since he couldn’t really think of what he’d have a vacation _from_. Buffy stroked his hair lightly. Oh yeah, the constant evil temptation of the Slayer. That’d be a good thing to get away from, from time to time…

Dawn clicked on the speakerphone on their own end. “Hi, guys,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Giles began, “it looks as though this Rhitias has drastically manipulated a brainwashing spell.”

“Great,” Spike was already ready to fall asleep. “How do we get rid of it?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Willow cut in. “We don’t think the spell’s still working.”

“Huh?” That was Spike and Dawn in unison.

“Th-The energy needed to cast over the entire Sunnydale population would have to be enormous,” Tara provided. “There’s no way anyone could maintain it for long.”

“Sincerely believe me when I say Buffy is still effected,” Spike informed them, catching the hand that was wandering between his legs.

“But it’s not still the active spell,” Willow countered. “It must have been preserved somehow to maintain its potency. Usually, a talisman of some sort…”

Dawn and Spike exchanged a glance. “Collars,” they answered in unison.

“Pardon?” Giles demanded at the other end.

“They’ve all got these li’l gold collars with crystal keys that go in ‘em,” Spike said, taking advantage of Buffy’s persistent nearness to examine hers. “S’pose I could try to rip it off…”

“No!” Giles, Willow, and Tara said in stereo.

“Or not…” Spike added confusedly.

“The sudden destruction of a magical talisman could have crippling psychological impact upon Buffy,” Giles clarified. “You must remove the collar within the limits of the spell.”

“An’ how do I do that?” Spike demanded, his attention drifting from Buffy’s collar to the slender column of her throat.

“My guess is you need the key,” Giles replied.

Spike scowled at the receiver. “Figured that out already, mate,” he said sarcastically. “You got anything _useful_ for me?”

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, “we could _really_ use some help here. It’s freaky with me and Spike being the only normal ones…”

“And Spike not even that,” Giles mumbled away from the receiver.

“Oi! I ‘eard that!” Spike’s vampire hearing narrowed in on the faint insult.

“Er, well,” Giles quickly covered. “We do have vast information on how the spell was cast. It turns out, the demonic energy of the Hellmouth was enough to amplify the spell enough for it to encompass a larger reason than previously—”

“’S this gonna help me cure Buffy?” Spike cut him off.

“Well…no,” Giles admitted regretfully.

“W-We would come to help,” Tara said apologetically, “but Rhitias could just curse us, too, if he found out.”

“What about the Watcher?” Spike demanded.

“I have, er…other matters to attend to,” Giles said nervously.

“ ‘Other matters’ wear a skirt?” Spike accused.

“How _dare_ you?!” Giles exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that I’m very worried about Buffy, and, so help me, the second I get my hands on—”

There was some scuffling on the other end, and Spike and Dawn gave each other curious looks.

“Um, we’re having our own Hellmouthy problems over here,” Tara said as the tussle continued in the background. “We’re not really going to be able to help out much on this one.”

Giles swore off in the distance.

“Riiight,” Spike said, the beginnings of a headache forming. As if on cue, Buffy began massaging his temples.

“I think we’d better be going now,” Dawn finished the conversation for him. “Let us know when you’re done with—”

“Villainous She-Devil!” Giles exclaimed in the background.

“—Whatever’s wrong with Giles,” Dawn finished her sentence. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye, Dawnie. Bye, Spike. Bye, Brainwashed-Buffy!” Tara hung up on the other end.

Spike and Dawn sat in silence for a minute, while Buffy proceeded to fluff the pillows behind Spike’s back.

“We _sooo_ need normal lives,” Dawn finally decided, shaking herself out of her stupor.

Spike hung up the phone on their end. “Let’s go to bed,” he agreed…

* * *

Four such simple words. Who knew what catastrophe they would create?

Dawn had simply gone off to her room upstairs.

Spike had headed down to the basement to use the spare mattress on the floor there that he used whenever he needed to rest after patrol at Buffy’s.

Buffy had _seemingly_ gone upstairs to her bed as well.

However, she had internally processed the sentence “let’s go to bed” as a sign that she would finally be allowed to sexually pleasure this man she’d been given the honor of serving. She quickly stripped out of all her clothing up in her room and ran a comb through her hair several times to make sure it was as attractive as her wonderful new temporary master deserved.

Quietly, she snuck from her room so that her love’s favored mistress wouldn’t catch her in the act and crept down into the basement.

She barely suppressed a little squeal of anticipation when she finally stood at the foot of his mattress and gazed upon his bare form, illuminated by the pale moonlight. He had obviously stripped ahead of time in anticipation of her arrival, and the only thing that covered him was the thin sheet about his waist. He was absolutely still as she approached, obviously pretending to be asleep.

She dropped to her knees at the end of the bed and slowly crawled up his body, determined to play his game right this time… Only when she fully straddled his waist did she move to touch him, mouth upon hard, sculptured chest and hips grinding against rapidly rising erection.

Spike awoke with a start to find a completely _NAKED_ Slayer on top of him. He had thought she’d gone to bed, and he did mention that she was _NAKED_?! He moaned as _NAKED_ Buffy pulled the sheet around his swollen cock aside and proceeded to grind her _NAKED_ curls against his.

“Cor, Buffy!” he exclaimed at the amazing sensation. “Don’ stop, luv…” Then, that pesky little voice in the back of his head reminded him of her present state of non-mind. “Or, wait! Stop! Stop, Buffy!”

It was easily the hardest thing he’d ever done in his unlife.

And Buffy was displeased to learn that she wouldn’t get the hardest thing she ever _would’ve_ done in her life.

“Amn’t I giving you pleasure?” She bit her bottom lip nervously and tried to fight back the tears that were threatening to come to her eyes.

“No, no, luv,” Spike hastily amended, sitting up so that they were now face to face. “You’ve given me very much pleasure, I assure you.”

She curled up into a ball beside him and began sobbing softly. “You don’t want me,” she got out between sobs. “I don’t please you…”

Spike was tempted to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation, but even under this stupid spell, he couldn’t stand to see Buffy cry. “I want you very much, pet,” he assured her softly, coming up behind her and stroking her back until her sobs quieted. “You’re so beautiful, Buffy. And you please me, luv. Really, you do…”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?” she asked raggedly. “Do you want me from behind?” she noticed their current position hopefully. “Is that it?” She quickly raised one hip so that it was wrapped back around his thigh, and all he would need was one quick push to be inside her.

Spike braced himself as the smell of Slayer arousal hit him full force. “You’d better remember this when the spell’s gone,” he muttered under his breath as he caught her thigh and moved her legs shut again. “’S more than any man should ‘ave to put up with…let alone a demon…”

“I’m not giving you pleasure,” Buffy whimpered once more.

“Shh,” he spooned up against her back, cautiously wrapping his arms around her. “You are, luv,” he insisted, “jus’…not in that way.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“There’s more’n one kind of pleasure,” he informed her. “An’ for me, jus’ lyin’ here with you all cozy an’ such…tha’s pleasure.”

“Really?” she barely dared to believe.

“Really,” he assured her, kissing the vanilla-scented waves of her hair gently. As if to affirm this statement, a deep purr rumbled from his chest.

“Th-Then can I stay here tonight,” she began nervously, “and continue to give you pleasure in this way?”

“’f course, kitten,” he agreed softly. “Jus’ sleep. You need your rest. Knowin’ you’re sleepin’ well beside me, that’ll give me a lot of pleasure.”

“OK,” Buffy agreed softly, closing her eyes.

It wasn’t long before the two former mortal enemies were asleep in each other’s arms…


	6. In Dreams

Spike was in heaven. There was simply no other explanation for it.

He didn’t think he’d ever woken up feeling so warm and comfortable and… _surrounded_.

The still-sleeping woman beside him had her arms wrapped firmly around his chest, her head pillowed against the hollow of his throat, her hot, wet breaths tickling the sensitive skin there. Her bare thigh was wrapped around his waist, pulling his hips into her tight embrace as well.

Spike closed his eyes for a minute and memorized this moment. The shallow rise and fall of her chest, her blood thumping in time with her heart just beneath that glorious golden skin, the smell of vanilla and jasmine and arousal and _him_ that surrounded her…

And then she stirred beside him and slowly awoke.

“Would you like me to tend to your needs, Master?” she asked with wide, inquiring eyes when she noticed that his erection had returned with a vengeance.

And there went that lovely illusion.

“No thanks, luv,” Spike insisted, freeing him from her soft, warm grasp before he lost control of himself and took her up on her offer. “Let’s get dressed…”

He quickly found his jeans and pulled them on, the sound of his zipper closing an immense relief. Yeah, it was more than a little tight right now, but he felt more comfortable now that there was a physically barrier between him and Slave-Buffy.

She bit her lip. “I did give you pleasure, though…?” she asked hesitantly, nervously.

He spared her a small smile. “Feel real good, pet,” he assured her, stretching and yawning. “Y’did great.”

She beamed up at him. “All I want is to make you happy,” she informed him in that overly precise diction that let him know that the real Buffy wasn’t driving.

“Yeah, well, you can get dressed then,” he requested, looking up from where he was tying his boots and licking his lips unconsciously at the sight of her naked glory…and in his bed, no less!

She nodded, got up, and began to walk up the stairs, all entirely naked.

“Wait a minute!” Spike caught her before she could open the basement door. “Where’re you goin’?”

“To get my clothes,” she explained, confused. “They’re upstairs. You _did_ want me to get dressed?”

Spike groaned. “You can’t walk ‘round the house like that,” he informed her, leading her back downstairs and sitting her on the edge of the mattress. “Here,” he thrust his T-shirt in her direction.

She eagerly slipped into it. Many men enjoyed watching women wear their clothes, after all.

Spike breathed a sigh of relief when the pair of perfect, perky little breasts was hidden beneath the black shirt. Unfortunately, she looked really damn sexy with her hair all tousled from sleep and wearing his shirt…

He turned away from her and headed upstairs, buttoning up his violet overshirt as he went. “’ll get you some proper clothes, luv,” he assured her. “You jus’ wait down ‘ere till I get back…”

He reached forward for the knob…just as it turned and opened before his hand.

He managed several ungraceful waves of his arms before he successfully regained his balance and did not fall down the stairs.

“Klutzy much?” Dawn asked distractedly before cutting right to the point. “Spike, we’ve got a problem! Buffy’s not in her room, and—” She glanced over Spike’s shoulder and quickly found the misplaced Slayer. “—and she’s in your bed,” Dawn was now giving him the Evil, Accusing Stare Of Death, “wearing _your_ shirt, and…is she _naked_ under that?!” Demanding green eyes bored into him.

“Nibblet,” he instantly went for the most soothing tone he could manage.

She wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms in front of her. “Spike?” she demanded.

“Look, kitten,” he pleaded with her, “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”

“I pleasured Spike last night,” Buffy added helpfully from the mattress.

“Ow!” Spike complained when Dawn’s slap caught him squarely on the cheek. He barely managed to grab the railing in time to avoid falling down the stairs _again_.

“How _could_ you?!” Dawn raged, her cheeks flushed an angry crimson. “I thought you were different – _better_ – than this!”

“Bit, ‘s not—”

“Don’t call me that!” she screamed.

“Please, I—”

“No!” Dawn shrieked. “She was helpless and vulnerable, a-and you took advantage of her, and what if it’d been _me_?!”

Spike eyes flashed yellow. “ _Never_ ,” he hissed so vehemently that Dawn couldn’t help to cede that one point.

“I hate you!” she screamed, though, knowing full well how painful it was to his sensitive ears. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I—”

“Buffy,” Spike turned to his only hope of defense, “tell her. Tell ‘er how you pleasured me last night.”

“You think I want to _hear_ —?” Dawn began, outraged.

Buffy cut her off before she could continue, however. “I came down to offer Spike orgasms, but he informed me that he didn’t want any. I was worried that I wasn’t pleasing him, but then he explained how just holding me gave him pleasure, so I gave him pleasure that way all night,” she summarized succinctly.

Dawn blinked, turned to look at Spike, back to Buffy… “You didn’t…?” she began hesitantly, her eyes pleading Spike’s.

“No, Bit,” he insisted.

“You didn’t have sex?” Dawn demanded of Buffy, knowing that in her current state she was pretty much unable to lie.

Buffy just sat there silently.

“Answer her question,” Spike ordered, once he realized what the problem was.

“We did not have sex,” Buffy answered.

Dawn’s shoulders sagged in relief…and then with a sob.

“Nibblet…?” Spike began in concern, but she fled from his touch, running up the stairs and crying all the way. He flinched slightly when he heard her door slam.

“She doesn’t seem like a very obedient mistress,” Buffy commented from the bed.

Spike let out a sigh of exasperation. “You stay ‘ere,” he ordered. “Don’ move. ‘ll be back with clothes soon.”

With that, he climbed upstairs, pausing only briefly to listen to the sobs coming from Dawn’s room. He shook his head slightly and proceeded to Buffy’s. He found a full, clean set of clothing with the speed and efficiently of someone who for several months spent way too much time digging through her underwear drawers.

When he passed Dawn’s room on the way back, he could hear that she was still crying.

He quickly brought Buffy her clothes. “Get dressed in these,” he said. “Leave my shirt on the bed. After that, go to the kitchen an’ make yourself a bowl of cereal. You remember ‘ow ta do that?”

She nodded eagerly, happy to have clear instructions to follow for once.

“Good girl,” he grimaced slightly. “Eat the cereal. When you’re done, wash the bowl in the sink. If ‘m still not back down when you’re done with that, sit down in the livin’ room an’ wait for me. Good it?”

“Yes, Master,” she agreed.

“Good,” he tossed her the clothes, “now get to it.”

By the time he’d returned to Dawn’s room, only soft whimpers could be heard through the door. He tried the knob; it was locked. He jangled it a few times to let her know that he wanted in – no response.

The sobs picked up volume on the other side of the door again.

“Dawn, sweetie,” Spike said, leaning against the door, “let me in.”

The crying continued.

“C’mon, princess,” he cooed. “’S all right. Nothin’ happened. There’s no need to cry…”

A fresh round of bawling at the other end.

“Let me in, pet,” he continued. “’ll make it all better, I promise…”

Still nothing.

He tried for stern. “Dawn!” he exclaimed. “Open this door right now, or so ‘elp me ‘ll rip it straight off ‘s hinges!”

The sounds ceased on the other side.

“’ll rip your still beatin’ heart out an’ shove it down your throat!” he continued.

A muffled little laugh.

“An’ then when Buffy gets back to normal, ‘ll say ‘s _your_ fault I ‘ad to destroy the door, an’ she should see _you_ about the bill…”

That did it. The latch clicked, and the door peeked open.

“Jeez,” she sniffed, trying to roll her eyes but failing because they were so bloodshot, “overreact much?”

“Look who’s talkin’,” he countered, pushing past her and settling himself down on her desk chair, his legs straddling it backwards and his arms resting on the backrest. “Sit down,” he gestured to the bed.

“You can’t order me around,” Dawn pouted, but she did as he asked anyway.

“Now,” he said softly, “wha’s wrong, Platelet?”

She sniffed and rubbed at her nose with a Kleenex. “I-I th-thought…” she began weakly.

“’S OK, though,” he assured her. “We din’t.”

“Yeah,” she gulped, “but I still yelled at you, and you hadn’t done anything, a-and I’m a bad, awful friend,” she finally finished, bursting out into tears all over again.

“Oh, Dawn,” he said softly, at her side in a minute and helping to brush away her tears. “I don’ blame you, Sweetness. ‘Was the most obvious conclusion an’ all…”

“I-I should’ve trusted you,” she whispered softly.

“Oi, now, I don’t care, so it doesn’t matter,” he assured her, sitting up beside her and letting her rest her head against his shoulder.

“R-Really?” Her voice sounded so weak and desperate…

“Really,” he insisted. “You’re all freaked out ‘cause ‘f what happened to you an’ Sis, so ‘s only natural that you’ll be jumpy for a bit…”

“I totally freaked out,” Dawn shivered slightly.

He wrapped his arms around her in response – after all, now was one of the few times he had borrowed warmth to give. “’S OK,” he insisted, “you don’ ‘ave to be strong all the time. ‘m here for you, my Tasty Li’l Morsel…”

Dawn buried her face in his shoulder and couldn’t help but giggle at the nickname. “Love you, Spike,” she whispered softly against him.

“Love you, too, Dawn,” he said, a bit uncomfortable with the level of emotion in the room.

She caught his cue and decided to lighten things up. “And I am _so_ going to tell that you threatened to rip my heart out and feed it to me,” she teased.

“An’ how’re you gonna do that with your heart shoved down your throat?” he mock-threatened her, pulling back a bit to look into her smiling eyes.

“You won’t do it,” she said confidently. “You’re too much of a cuddly, huggy vamp.”

He mock-scowled. “Don’ mock me li’l girl,” he growled, vamping out.

Dawn giggled in delight and proceeded to give him a quick peck on the tip of his nose, right amidst all his bumpies.

He flashed her a sheepish little fanged smile, and she impulsively hugged him again, all the while thinking how ironic it was that she felt safer with this vampire’s fangs only inches away from her throat than anywhere else.

Spike pulled away first like he always did when he thought he was acting too much like a poof, and his forehead was smooth again by the time Dawn opened her eyes to look at him again.

“A-All forgiven?” she still felt the need to ask.

“All forgiven,” he assured her, brushing one long, silky lock of her hair back behind her ear. “Now, let’s go make sure that Big Sis ‘asn’t managed to destroy the house while we’ve been away.”

Dawn laughed and caught his hand, practically dragging him down the stairs. It was always fun to be overly hyperactive around vamps in the morning.

Buffy, miraculously, had not managed to misconstrue the meaning of any of Spike’s instructions in the slightest. She gave him a proud smile from her seat on the couch, and he felt compelled to give her one little quick kiss on the forehead to let her know how appreciative he was of her good job.

Dawn rolled her eyes and grabbed several granola bars from the cupboard. She tossed one to Spike, and he forced himself to eat it just so he wouldn’t hurt his Bit’s feelings. Frankly, it tasted rather like artificially sweetened cardboard to him.

The three of them sat down at the kitchen table together, Buffy’s hand lightly brushing against his thigh, and Dawn back to teasing him already. And, for just one second, it all seemed wonderfully, perfectly normal to him, and he wished that things could be like this forever…

* * *

Of course, he should have remembered that that violated the unspoken, eleventh commandment: ‘Spike shall not _ever_ be happy for long.’ He really should have remembered that.

But the afternoon had been so pleasant.

After a brief call to Anya to make sure that everything they needed for their plan to work was in place, they’d settled down to a game of Monopoly (because they really had nothing better to do, and Spike had been getting increasingly more edgy as the hours had slipped by – so Dawn had chosen the longest game she could think of).

Of course, his Nibblet had slaughtered them both. Buffy had been too busy making sure that Spike had every advantage over her while simultaneously distracting him with enticing little caresses. Needless to say, neither had been in top form.

And Dawn could kick their collective asses even when they were.

Anya’s package had arrived that evening less than five minutes after the pizza – again.

Spike was quite confident Buffy was going to dust him on principle the second she got back to her normal self since he’d let Dawn eat greasy cheese for dinner two nights in a row – and made her eat it, as well.

He planned his defense strategy in his head as he got ready for bed. He figured he could probably use the fact that the pizza place seemed to be the only store _open_ to his advantage. Apparently, the clueless and oblivious Pizza Hut folks hadn’t noticed that the entire female population of Sunnydale had gone all crazy-horny. It was actually possible since pizza delivery people by necessity were the most clueless in town – there was no more surefire way of becoming vampire take-out.

Spike slipped into the pair of baggy old boxers he’d found in Buffy’s room. He’d made sure they didn’t belong to any of her exes first – he really didn’t fancy wearing hand-me-downs from Angelus, or worse, Captain Cardboard – and had been immensely satisfied to learn that they were part of her own sleepwear.

Normally, he went without such things, but tonight…

There was no way he was going to get caught butt-naked with the Slayer again. She persisted in being aloud to pleasure him by sleeping at his side, and he humored her because it wasn’t worth the effort to try to fiddle with whatever brainwashing she’d been given…and, all right, because he enjoyed feeling her beside him as well.

But he wasn’t a masochist. He would ensure the proper barriers first.

Buffy had pulled on his own black tee the instant he’d discarded it, and he was a bit relieved. She wasn’t wearing anything else. Again.

He prepared a mental checklist in his head to make sure that the previous morning’s disaster wouldn’t occur again. I’m dressed, check; Buffy’s dressed, check; Dawn knows she’s staying with me tonight, check…

He settled back down onto the mattress and purred in contentment when Buffy curled up beside him, her hardened nipples poking him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Would you like me to touch you?” she asked, as eager to please as ever.

He shook his head. “Jus’ go to sleep, luv,” he insisted.

She nodded and snuggled against him a bit more before her breathing turned slow and regular, indicating that she had drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Spike dared to brush his lips softly against hers as she slept and sighed at the memory of their two, all-too-brief mutually consensual kisses. Her lips really were so round and warm and soft and…

 _Wanker!_

He turned his line of thought in another direction. Tonight would be the last night they slept together like this. Midnight tomorrow night, the auction would take place, and he’d buy her and get the key, and then he’d have the woman he loved back to hating his very existence against.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her a little tighter. It wasn’t fair, dammit! This _stupid_ spell had come so close to giving him everything he ever wanted, and now he had to give it all back. Rhitias was in for a bloody, gruesome demise, that was for sure.

But it was all worth it because this time tomorrow his beautiful, powerful, infuriating, irate Buffy would be back.

Unless something went wrong.

But it was such a simple plan. Nothing could go wrong.

Right?


	7. Shades of a Dream

_Skin. Flesh. Heat._

 _So soft and so firm at the same time, encircling him, warming him, sliding against him._

 _A regular deep thumping rhythm. Her breaths, her heartbeat, the pattern of their bodies moving slowly together…_

 _Spike sighed and lowered his head to steal a kiss from those sweet, succulent, full lips. They met his eagerly and parted before his tongue had even made its request. He slipped inside, conquering, tasting…finding her own tongue, battling with it, two equals now, joining, mating, loving…_

 _Slender hands stroked up and down his back, encouraging him to rock in time with her. Delicate, little feet with the power to crush him glided along his calves, twining their legs together, advancing one more step towards perfect union…_

 _His own hands tangled in her long, blond, silken hair. Stroking it, touching it, wrapping it around his fingers, inhaling its heady vanilla scent…memorizing her, memorizing every moment._

 _His left hand ventured lower, finding one soft mound, pleasuring the sensitive nipple before dipping lower, finding firm muscles beneath soft feminine curves, moving ever downward until…_

 _A delighted little gasp escaped her lips when his fingers finally arrived at the source of her pulsing need. He did everything he could think of for her, just so that she would make that wonderful sound over and over and over again…_

 _“Spike…” Her moans finally took shape in the form of his name._

 _“Buffy…” he whispered back raggedly against the hollow of her throat._

 _“I-I love you, Spike,” she gasped, catching hold of his chin and turning his head so that he looked directly into her eyes as she spoke. “I love you so much,” she repeated softly._

 _He felt giddy with the pleasure of that moment. He wasn’t even inside her, yet what he felt was greater than any climax he’d ever experienced. “I-I love you, t-too,” he barely managed to stammer out, fighting to maintain some hold on reality…or dream reality, as the case may be._

 _“Please, Spike,” she whispered gently, her feet sliding up so that her legs now wrapped around his waist. “Show me. Show me how much you love me. Show me what a beautiful man you’ve become…”_

 _“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered again, his shut lashes fluttering against her cheek. “Y-You know that, right? I mean,_ really _know…”_

 _“Shh,” she stroked his hair tenderly, “I know… I know you. I know you, and I love you. Please, William, make love to me…”_

 _He gave her what he was sure was the most delighted grin of his unlife as he brought them into perfect alignment._

 _“Yesss,” she hissed at the feel of his tip prodding her wet opening. “I’ve wanted this…so long…”_

 _“Look at me,” he pleaded. “I want to look into your eyes…”_

 _Twin hazel orbs of molten fire – anger, passion, and love – instantly turned to his._

 _Never breaking her gaze, he plunged deep inside. And she was so warm and tight and wet and_ wonderful _…_  
   
 

…And he opened his eyes and woke up.

“Oh, god, no!” he gasped.

He should have known it all along. No mere dream could imitate that scorching heat, no fantasy ever smelled this lovely or felt so glorious. Never in his unlife had he experienced anything like it. Which meant this was the first time, the first…

Buffy clutched him tightly to her, even as his eyes widened in horror at what his unconscious mind had allowed. She rocked her hips slowly against his, finding a slow rhythm and maintaining it, her inner muscles working him over in the most wondrous ways imaginable…

His first reflex was to just give in. His second was to panic. His third was to resign himself to the fact that he was already fully within her, they were already making love, the damage had been done. The fourth was to just give in again. The fifth was to panic once more.

“Please, Spike,” she entreated, her lips at his ear, “move with me. I want to make love with you, baby. So bad…”

He whimpered as she squeezed him rhythmically, her hips increasing the intensity of their thrusts against his. Of their own volition, his hips began rocking into her in response.

“ _Please_ , Spike…”

She turned his head to face her and…

Oh, god, this was not good. He was imagining the real Buffy, _his_ Buffy, in those eyes, looking at him with that love, pleading with him to continue. He bit back a gentle sob.

“I’m so close,” she continued to coax him. “That’s how much I want you, my love. I’m that close already.”

He refused to acknowledge the fact that he was that close as well. Oh, god, her body was heaven! But knowing that that wasn’t really her mind, her soul…that was hell at the same time.

“Cum with me,” she whispered softly against the short hairs on his temple. “Please, Spike… I want you with me…”

She made a soft, keening noise as slow ripples spread throughout her body, causing her to convulse beneath him.

He clenched his eyes shut tight and buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing softly, even as he felt his own climax approaching. Her inner muscles pulsed against him, their rapid staccato too powerful for him to resist. He spilled deep within her, still clutching at her shoulder helplessly, trying to seek comfort from the source of his distress.

“I love you, Buffy,” he gasped out between sobs. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” And with that, he finally managed to pull free of her grasp, curling up a little ball at the far side of the mattress and fighting back tears.

Buffy was quite alarmed. She had thought that it would be a nice surprise to wake him like this, but apparently her actions didn’t bring him any pleasure at all. Well, he _had_ cum within her, but now he was crying and apologizing like crazy. She didn’t know what was wrong.

“W-Was I not good?” she asked nervously. This master had been the nicest to her by far out of all those she’d met, and she had been rather hoping that he would buy her up till now…even though she would faithfully serve whoever purchased her.

“’S not that, p—” He suddenly felt very guilty using affectionate pet names for her and broke off in mid-syllable. He let out a frustrated sigh, hating that he had to explain this to Slave-Buffy while his heart was breaking. “I-I wasn’t ready, was all…” he tried lamely.

“Were you a virgin?” Buffy asked in realization. “You were exceptional for a virgin,” she reassured him.

“What?” Spike said in confusion. “No. No! Don’ be ridiculous! It was _you_ I wasn’t ready to be with.”

“In case someone else bought me at the auction?” Buffy asked quizzically. “You wanted to buy me first. You wanted to wait until after the auction before we had sex?”

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, “that’s it.” _In more ways than one…_

“Then, you can just buy me and it will be all better,” she decided perkily. “Then you won’t have to give me up.” She beamed at him proudly, happy that she’d solved his problem.

He nodded slowly and managed a small smile. “Yeah,” he said, false happiness in his voice, “all better…”

She crawled over to him like a predatory feline and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. His own lips met hers with a ferocious intensity for a second, and his hands caught her shoulders to him roughly as he kissed Buffy – the _real_ Buffy – within.

Then, he pulled back and looked as deep into her eyes as he could get. “I know you’re in there,” he told her firmly, seriously. “I know you can hear me, an’ you know what I did. ‘m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t excuse it. Wh-When you come back, ‘ll do whatever you want, I swear it. You wanna stake me, ‘ll stand there an’ let you do it. You want me to leave, you’ll never see me again. _Anythin’_ I can do to make it up to you, Slayer, I promise. Anythin’ to take back the fact that I r-rap-r—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word and turned away from her in shame. “Punish me ‘owever you see fit,” he amended softly before getting up and getting dressed.

Slave-Buffy merely looked at him curiously, not understanding a word of what that had all been about. She bit her lip, worried that she wasn’t following instructions properly again. “What should I do?” she asked, demanding clarification.

“Jus’ get dressed,” he said disinterestedly, tossing a shirt and pants over to her.

Apparently she’d discarded her sleeping shirt before jumping him. He brought his shorts back up around his waist from where she’d yanked them down his hips before having her way with him.

He dressed slowly and methodically, focusing his full attention on putting his arms through sleeves and his feet in boots. Because the instant he stopped, that strange, nauseous feeling rose up inside him. He wished for a moment that vampires could vomit; maybe he’d feel better if he did. Somehow, he doubted it, though.

“Would you like me to help you?” Slave-Buffy asked, noticing how long he was taking when she was already dressed.

“ _No_ ,” he insisted, a bit too vehemently.

She blinked and shrugged. He hadn’t given her any additional instructions, so she must be doing what he wanted.

Finally, he got the last of his shirt buttons fastened and moved to go upstairs. Slave-Buffy got up as well to follow him. He paused when he realized this, mulling his current problem over in his head.

“Dawn asks,” he finally decided to delay the confrontations until Buffy was able to fight in his place if need be and he was dust, “you lie ‘bout what happened here this morning. You say we din’t ‘ave sex. We jus’ cuddled like last night. Got it?”

Slave-Buffy nodded eagerly. “Yes, Master,” she agreed cheerfully.

Spike shuttered slightly at the epithet. “Please, don’ call me ‘Master’,” he begged.

“Yes, Spike,” she agreed.

“Tha’s better,” he nodded. “Now, we’d better go make sure everythin’s ready for the auction…”

* * *

He just stood there numbly, nodding at appropriate intervals. He’d been doing that all day, actually. Dawn had noticed, of course, but he hadn’t been responsive enough for her to figure out why. Slave-Buffy had merely explained that they’d snuggled together last night just like the night before, so Dawn had no way of knowing that anything was different there.

He had no idea how he’d thought he could ever pretend that things were all right. That deep, queasy, gnawing-at-his-gut feeling had only increased as time went on, and he kept running that morning over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what he could have done, how he could have stopped it.

By the time they were ready to go to the auction, he’d come up with a list of 3,472 things that he could have done to prevent the woman he loved from being raped. He still couldn’t bring himself to succinctly think the thought: _I raped Buffy_.

He just couldn’t handle it. So he continued to walk in a daze through the tasks before him – tasks necessary so that Buffy wouldn’t experience the same torment at the hands of a complete stranger. He wasn’t sure which of the two was worst. Cold, random violation by someone you didn’t even know, or the most intimate betrayal of someone you’d known for years, someone who claimed to love you, who you trusted, who…

Spike shook his head when Dawn stepped hard on his foot in as inconspicuous a manner as she could. He raised his placard to bid.

He decided that it had been a good thing that Dawn didn’t know yet; one of them, at least, had to be able to focus enough to get through the technicalities of the auction…

Dawn jabbed him again. He raised the bid to ten thousand.

Fortunately, her position curled up against him in full ‘slave’ mode made her pokes and jabs more discreet. But the way she was looking at him like he was completely off his rocker… Sooner or later someone was going to catch on if she didn’t stop doing that…

Sixteen thousand. He noticed the lull in the bidding himself this time and allowed himself to be proud for just one second.

Around him, several unsavory types continued to bid up. Spike had no doubt that he’d be able to ‘acquire’ the Slayer, though. After all, he had more than enough money squirreled away to be a formidable opponent on the auction floor. And, to everyone else here, the auction block was just another cheap sex toy – there were plenty others just as pretty.

Spike suddenly became morbidly fascinated with just how far this sleaze was willing to dish out in order to rape the love of his life. There was one man – _human_ , of all things – that seemed to think that the opportunity was worth twenty thousand.

Spike countered his bid almost instantly. If it were a human that finally touched his Buffy… He didn’t think she could bear that; she had such faith in that little dichotomy of hers: humans equals good, demons equals bad. And, if nothing else, his actions of the morning before had proved her to be right…

“Sold!” Rhitias announced.

Spike merely nodded blankly. Twenty-one thousand dollars. That was all she was worth to these losers. His goddess, his love… Oh, god! What had he done to her? What would she be like when she was restored to herself?

Spike found himself a place to sit down for the rest of the auction. He just couldn’t stand to watch it. All those poor girls with their hopes, their dreams… It could have been his Nibblet, if he hadn’t come and saved her. It could have been his Slayer. It already _was_ his Slayer, and it was all his fault.

He cried aloud then for the first time.

Fortunately, they were a secluded enough place that no one saw. Dawn tried to comfort him as best she could, but she had no idea what was wrong with him, what had completely broken him from the night before…

And, if she did know, she would never hold him like this, let him cry on her shoulder. She would call him a monster and say she hated him. And she _should_. She should hate him with every fiber of her being. Because he _was_ a monster, because…

“Spike?” Dawn whispered gently, still stroking his hair as his head rested on her shoulder long after the convulsive sobs had stopped. “We have to go meet with Rhitias in less than half an hour,” she reminded him. “Maybe you want to get yourself cleaned up? Pull it together for just a little bit longer? We can grab Buffy, then. Get her out of this place…”

Her words finally did get him to snap out of it. He nodded and found a restroom not too far away. Dawn waited outside the door while he splashed water on his face.

As he dried himself off, he stared intently at his lack of reflection in the mirror. Never before had he so desperately wanted to see himself. It wasn’t fair, he decided. He – just like every other one of those wankers out there – should be forced to see themselves every day so they could look at their own face and be disgusted with it.

Dawn called him out within a few minutes, and he rapidly composed himself before stepping outside.

Rhitias had easily bought the excuse that he was just tired. He was delighted to take Spike’s money and gave him a little conspiratorial wink for having been so helpful during the auction.

Spike couldn’t even work up the rage to want to rip the slimy demon’s throat out. But that was OK. Buffy would be back to take care of it. She would take care of him, and then she’d go after Rhitias. That was how it should be.

There was no sense of satisfaction when her key was finally placed in his palm. He’d done it, he knew. Played the part, tricked Rhitias enough to get the Slayer back, but it was all meaningless.

They three of them left immediately thereafter, refusing the party Rhitias was holding afterwards. Rhitias had made some sly comment about Spike wanting to spend some times with the wares now that she was actually his.

Spike wished he could vomit again.

And so they arrived back at Buffy’s house, Dawn quickly pulling on _appropriate_ clothing and Spike nodding numbly as she babbled excitedly at him.

Truth be told, a horrible fear was building deep within him as the time of the real Buffy’s return approached. It wasn’t the death; he was resigned to that. Sure, he didn’t really want to die all _that_ much, but that persistent, nagging desire to exist wasn’t able to overcome his grief at the moment.

No, he feared that one instant before his death. The one where Buffy would look at him with pure hatred and disgust before she plunged the stake into his heart. The one where her eyes would ask him: _why did I ever trust you? Why did I ever think you were more than a filthy demon? Why didn’t I just kill you years ago? You weren’t worth the effort of my kindness…_

“Spike!” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Snap out of it! Fix her collar already. It’s getting way creepy.”

“Close your eyes,” Spike said softly to Buffy.

She instantly did as he requested. He removed the small, white crystal from the little traveling bag Rhitias had given him. With shaking fingers, he lifted it up to her collar.

He couldn’t get it in the first two tries.

Eventually, Dawn gave him a sigh of annoyance and fitted it in herself.

“Bit,” Spike finally began, “I-I jus’ wanted you to know that I din’t mean it.”

“What are you talking about?” Dawn looked at him confusedly.

“I love you,” he said softly, “but i-if Big Sis does somethin’ to me, I-I…” He trailed off and bit back his tears once more.

“Spike, what’s wrong?” Dawn was really worried down.

She rested a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it off. He had stolen deceitful comfort from her before; he wouldn’t do it again.

“I jus’ wanted you to know that I love you,” he finally finished calmly. “And that I deserve whatever Big Sis does to me.”

He hushed her when she moved to speak and turned back to Buffy.

“I order you to act ‘xactly like you always do, Slayer,” he said with a bit of his old confidence. “You don’ take orders from me or anyone else anymore. You do whatever you want…my love…”

Buffy sat still for a moment. That spark of life and intelligence stirred in the back of her eyes for a moment, flickering in and out of control of her body.

Spike stepped back and set Dawn in front of her. The least he could do was have her first sight be a pleasant one. He continued to watch from the side.

Slave-Buffy blinked once, twice, shook her head, and then her eyes opened once more, and it was the _real_ Buffy that looked out of them…


	8. A Dream Within a Dream

Buffy awoke when she suddenly became aware of the strange fact that her body was moving of its own accord. At first she just thought she had been thrashing in her sleep, but then she realized she walking, heading downstairs, Dawn right behind her looking exactly like a zombie.

Buffy panicked. She tried to stop her body’s movements, but it was all in vain. She had no control whatsoever. It was almost as though her consciousness were caged, the spaces between the bars that she couldn’t escaped for letting her see everything that happened around her.

That was when she first sensed _Her_. She wasn’t really anything concrete, to tell the truth, but Buffy had to come up with same name to call whatever it was that now controlled her body. She began listening closely to what She was thinking. At this point it was just dull repetition:

 _Must obey Rhitias. Must go to Rhitias. Must obey Rhitias. Must go to Rhitias._

 _Who the hell is Rhitias?_ the inner-Buffy asked confusedly.

 _Rhitias is my Master. Must obey Rhitias._

To say Buffy was freaked by this point would be an understatement. Metaphorically, of course, she bashed against the walls of her cage, bloodying herself as she tried desperately to escape. But not even her Slayer strength was enough to overcome _Her_.

By the time she and Dawn had walked all the way to downtown, she had put escape on hold and settled for trying to figure out what was going on.

By now, there were dozens of people walking all in the same direction, all in a trance-like state. Buffy quickly decided that someone must have cast some kind of spell over the entire town… Scratch that, only over the _women_ of the town.

Buffy tested this theory out, and every last person _Her_ eyes saw was female. This was not of the good.

Her suspicions were confirmed when, the instant they arrived at the stately Spanish-style mansion, they all stripped off their clothes in the entrance hallway.

Buffy began her struggles anew here, but they did no good.

 _Don’t fight_ , _She_ provided. _We must be good for Rhitias._

Buffy still had no real idea who this Rhitias was, but he was so dead, it wasn’t even funny. And if _anyone_ so much as touched her while she was in this state…

She shivered mentally. There was absolutely nothing she could do, she realized. She was completely and utterly helpless, at the total mercy of whoever had cast this spell.

A mental breakdown was _definitely_ in order.

She got through the entire collaring and ‘re-dressing’ process in this state. And there was no way that teeny little thing she was given to wear counted as clothing.

She then watched on, unable to do anything, while a bunch of demons and some _humans?_ debated how to manage their newest acquisitions until the auction. One demon in particular kept giving her slimy, appraising looks, and she struggled once again against the confines of her prison.

Rhitias – sleazy, little troll that he was – quickly decided that Slimy-Demon was the one to watch over Buffy…with benefits, of course.

 _She_ didn’t even seem to notice. _She’d_ let their body go entirely slack as long as her ‘Masters’ weren’t commanding her to do something, and _She_ wasn’t even conscious of the proceedings.

Shortly thereafter _She’d_ been instructed to go home and await her temporary master. _She_ was already thinking of all sorts of sick ways to pleasure the disgusting demon. Buffy felt like retching; unfortunately, she had no control over her body to do so.

Rather than think about it, she’d spent the entire walk back home worrying about her sister. She hadn’t seen Dawn since just after they’d arrived, when Rhitias had proclaimed her a virgin and shuffled her off with the rest of the group. She could only imagine what was being done to her sister right now.

The thought of her little Dawnie being violated by these monsters became too much, and she was forced to turn her mind back to her current situation. Her own pain was infinitely easier to contemplate than Dawn’s, even though she felt a sense of dreadful anticipation now.

 _She_ had stripped and crawled into bed, eager for her new master to claim her.

Buffy finally found something halfway acceptable to think about: at least none of her other friends were in town. Willow, Tara, and Anya were all safe. But that also meant there was no one here to help her…

The instant she had this thought, she heard the motorcycle pull up outside.

 _Spike!_ She practically cried for joy at the realization. It didn’t even _occur_ to her that he might want to take advantage of her situation. He was Spike, and he helped her no matter what, and…he was in her bedroom, looking worried.

And then looking aroused.

Buffy quickly realized that She had made a mistake. _She_ was apparently under the delusion that Spike was the master she was waiting for.

Spike’s response was confused…and very, very tempted. Buffy silently prayed for him to realize something was wrong even as his lips met _Hers_.

What followed represented a frightening portion of Buffy’s dreams as of late. She quickly found out everything she’d been wondering about: how soft his hair was, how his tongue would feel in her mouth, how lean and well-toned his body really was, how his body just perfectly covered hers like they were made to fit together…

In truth, Buffy herself had become a bit dazed by his obvious bedroom talents. Only when she realized what was about to happen did she pull back.

 _No!_ She rattled against her cage and tried to strike out at the ethereal Her that controlled her body. _You can’t have him! He’s mine, dammit! MINE!_

She paused for a second, shocked that she had actually thought that. _Spike’s mine_ , she thought experimentally. It sounded kind of nice. _Spike’s mine…_

 _Spike’s mine!_ She screamed at her captor. _Don’t you_ dare _touch him!_

 _She_ didn’t listen, of course…but Spike did. If Buffy had had control of her lips, she would have kissed him when he pulled back and began demanding to know what was going on. _She_ , of course, tried to lure Spike back into bed, but he was onto _Her_ now.

Buffy was doing a little happy-dance inside her head when Slimy-Demon master walked right in. There was some amusing jaw dropping. _Kill him, Spike!_ Buffy cheered inwardly.

And then she realized what her body was up to. Her instinctive reaction to cry out and warn Spike was, of course, futile. She watched Spike collapse on the bed unconscious and felt her hopes sink.

At least, _She_ moved to call Rhitias instead of engaging in nasty activities with Slimy-Demon. Buffy shuddered convulsively – and entirely mentally – at the thought.

The next few hours were spent sitting in a room and staring at a wall back at Rhitias’. If nothing else, being trapped in this slave body was _boring_. Buffy figured Spike was lucky he wasn’t under the spell; he would have gone nuts after five seconds.

Of course the humorous little train of thought’s purpose was entirely to distract herself from Spike’s fate. He’d been unconscious and fine when she had brought him in, but who knew what Rhitias had planned for him…

Another of the ‘slaves’ came in to inform _Her_ that Rhitias requested _Her_ presence. She went to his office…and breathed a mental sigh of relief when she saw Spike there, conscious and pissed-off looking.

 _She_ instantly returned to the task of trying to seduce Spike, and Buffy found herself frighteningly amused by how incredibly uncomfortable Spike looked.

They talked about this and that, blah, blah, blah, and all the time _Her_ hands were on Spike. Buffy felt strange little tinglies running down her spine, and it wasn’t just because of the slave mentality. Even through this filter, her desire for him slipped through. _She_ tucked herself into the soft leather of his duster, and Buffy got a wonderful whiff of pure male Spike.

She found herself feeling better just by being in his presence. Her brief bereavement left her worried once more, but he soon returned…with Dawn.

Buffy got one look at her sister and felt her world shatter. That filthy demon had put her in some kind of whore’s costume, and that eternal pissed-off teenager expression she wore was replaced by zombie-stare #101.

For that second, Buffy didn’t care what happened to her. All that mattered was getting Dawn out of this hellhole.

Apparently, Spike had the same thought. Buffy’s worries were over before they started when he bought her from Rhitias on the spot.

 _She_ was curled up against Spike’s side once more, and Buffy allowed herself to take comfort in his presence once more. It was pretty clear that she was being left behind, but it was well worth it to save Dawnie.

She tried to project her gratitude toward him through _Her_ , but _Her_ response was to slip her hand down the front of Spike’s jeans.

 _Oops_ , Buffy thought mentally. This thought was quickly replaced by: _Ooh, BIG! And hard… Guess he had something to back up that innuendo all those years after all…_

She was still grateful when Spike removed her hand, however; this was all just too… _weird_.

Spike turned to her then, looking her in the eyes. “’ll _definitely_ be comin’ back for you, luv…” There was definite innuendo in the words…but also…

 _I know, Spike_ , she wanted to say. _I know you’ll come back for me. I know you won’t leave me here…_

And then he and Dawn were gone, leaving her alone with her captors once more.

 _Hurry, Spike_ , she pleaded, breaking down once again, _please…_

* * *

The day after Spike left had been hell. Every second she’d been in mortal fear that someone would rape her. It was making her exhausted and edgy and, quite frankly, more than a bit hysterical. At least she was back at the house now, so there weren’t male demons constantly around her.

But she had no idea what Rhitias wanted with her now…other than to get his greasy, bald head petted. She amused herself by contemplating swinging him around the room by his crappy little comb-over before flinging him right out the window… It was a happy fantasy.

Fortunately, the answer came to her in form of those subtle tinglies in the back of neck. Wonderful, familiar tinglies…

 _Spike…_ She was smiling before he even came in the door. She giggled inwardly at the completely dumbfounded look on his face. Apparently her state of undress was a bit taxing on his already strained jeans...

Dawn was with him, and one look at her was all it took for _real_ Buffy to know that she was herself again. Slave-Buffy had no clue, of course; Real-Buffy decided it was because _She_ didn’t _have_ a brain.

The negotiations were the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard in her life. _She_ snuggled up into Spike’s lap, and Buffy enjoyed wrapping her arms around him as well, all the while chanting: _please, let me stay with Spike, please, let me stay with Spike…_

And then Rhitias was gone, and her and Spike’s lips met again, and the world was wonderful…

Frankly, she had become more and more impressed with the vampire as the day passed by. The ‘hard to get’ game? Sheer brilliance! Although she was _so_ going to kiss his ass later about the “you’re a natural” comment. I mean, really, why did he say these things around her when he knew they would get him a good beating the _instant_ she was back to herself.

And, oh yeah, for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she actually _would_ become herself again soon. _She_ cuddled and snuggled and massaged Spike every chance _She_ could get, and Buffy availed herself of the opportunity to be close to the yummy vampirey goodness without any consequences whatsoever. By the time the day was done, she was inwardly trembling at the feel of his cool skin against hers…

The only time she had been at all worried was that first night. But, again, perfect gentleman…well, perfect naked gentleman with a rock-hard erection pressed against her bare ass… Not at all a bad sensation, actually.

She should have known he wouldn’t take advantage. After all, he loved her. There was no way he’d hurt her. She briefly wondered when she’d begun taking it as hard fact that Spike really was in love with her. It seemed so obvious now that she couldn’t imagine _what_ she’d been thinking in those first days after he made his confession to her.

And then, wonder of all wonders, he finally ordered Slave-Buffy to go to sleep. She actually hadn’t gotten any real rest this entire time. It was so delightful to finally close her eyes, Spike spooned up against her back, his irregular breaths soothing her, and drift off into sleep.

Really, it was no wonder she l—er, _respected_ , cared about, trusted, considered him a friend and an ally. See? No words that begin with ‘L’ there!

* * *

In the back of her mind, she began to feel guilty about how much fun it was watching him squirm when _She_ came on to him. But then Slave-Buffy would do something so completely outrageous, and he’d scramble so hard to try to get out of his precarious position, that she just couldn’t help herself from inwardly snickering at him. He really was funny. And kind. And handsome. And loving. And…

 _OK, Buffy_ , she scolded herself, _mind back on track. Tomorrow Spike buys you in auction. Don’t even think about how wrong that sentence is. Then, you get restored back to normal, and we kick serious demon ass. Well, not one particularly cute, tight demon ass…_ She ventured a peek over to where Spike was pulling up his boxers and felt her mouth go dry. Apparently, she and Slave-Buffy were thinking along the same lines.

 _Mind back on track!_ It was frightening how often she had to say this to herself as of late. That night when he'd first gotten that motorcycle of his and asked her for a ride… Oh god, just the thought of straddling that bike, her arms wrapped tightly around him, the engine vibrating beneath her spread thighs as she pressed them into him… So, yeah, it was a good thing she’d had the willpower to refuse, or she would have done something _really_ bad. Spontaneous sexual explosion kind of bad.

Her resistance was at an all-time low right now, however. She couldn’t imagine what she would do when this spell was over, and she couldn’t spend every night at his side anymore. All she wanted to do was curl up deep in his arms and never come out again…which she did. For the whole night.

* * *

She woke up to the delightful sensation of his erection pressing hard between her thighs. Unconsciously, she reached down to free it from the pair of boxers had concealed him from her.

Slave-Buffy took it a step further, yanking the shorts down to his knees and flinging her sleep-shirt up and over her head.

Buffy watched his erection hungrily as She stroked it to its full potential. Buffy suddenly found the strangest of sensations come over her. She felt empty, like there was a void deep inside her. Sure, the aching wet twinges between her thighs were a part of it, but that same emptiness was elsewhere, too. Deeper. At the very center of her being.

Even Slave-Buffy seemed to feel it. _She_ plundered Spike’s mouth with her own, and even in his sleep, he responded to her. Some simple gentle coaxing and he rolled over on top of her, murmuring her name in his sleep.

Buffy began to grow nervous as Slave-Buffy spread her thighs, allowing him to slip easily in between. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen; this wasn’t what she had been waiting for…

She had gone through three horrifying, soul-wrenching changes of opinion in the few months since Spike had first declared for her.

The first had been right after he’d nearly gotten himself tortured to death by Glory just to protect Dawn. As her lips brushed ever-so-gently across his swollen, beaten ones, something fundamentally within her had changed. _I will never have sex with Spike because I am NOT attracted to him_ switched to _I will never have sex with Spike DESPITE THE FACT that I’m attracted to him_.

She had railed against the idea for weeks, but in the end she couldn’t deny it. She was attracted to him. Had been for a long time now. And, once she admitted it, life had become a whole lot easier.

That was until Revelation #2. She had stood over his broken body after annihilating the Doc and saving the world once more, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang deep down in her chest. In a place that had been dead for so long, it almost hurt for feeling to blossom there again.

She’d carried him as tenderly as she could back to his crypt, cradling him as if he were something precious to her…which he was. She could admit that, right? He was a friend, an ally; she cared about. It was only natural. She’d do the same for Willow or Xander or Anya or…

She probably wouldn’t have given Willow or Xander or Anya that second kiss, though. The one that changed the definitive statement about her relationship with Spike from _I will NEVER have sex with Spike despite the fact that I’m attracted to him_ to _IF I EVER have sex with Spike, it will be because I’m attracted to him_.

This was deep sin territory now. She was actually acknowledging the _possibility_ that the two of them could make love. Very, _very_ scary. She avoided him for several weeks as a result.

But he had gotten back to his usual, exasperating self so quickly that she just _couldn’t_ avoid him. And, truth be told, she didn’t really _want_ to. There was something inherently exciting about knowing that he wanted her and, yeah, she’d consider it…

Revelation #3. When that demon gang came into town. Oh, the two of them had been _wonderful_ together that night. Pure Slaying magic. Buffy had felt the blood pound through her veins as they moved in perfect sync, destroying the demon threat before it even knew what hit it.

That night he’d come to her window on that bike of his, like some modern Romeo courting his Juliet. Buffy’d allowed herself to go down and talk to him, just that one night.

And when he’d asked her to ride with him, she suddenly realized it had all changed again. It wasn’t _IF I ever have sex with Spike_ so much as _WHEN I have sex with Spike_. It was inevitable, the natural conclusion of their relationship. There was no doubt in her mind that any day now, the two of them world finally come together, and…well, find a kind of magic union beyond just the fighting.

She’d refused him that night. _Not now_ , she thought inwardly, _but some day…when everything’s right…_

Apparently that day was now. His swollen tip pressed right against the softness between her thighs, and Buffy moaned. There was no conflict between Slave-Buffy and Real-Buffy in that moment; their needs were one.

“Spike…” she gasped softly when he finally plunged deep within her.

And his eyes opened. And he realized was he was doing.

Buffy watched with dismay when horror overcame his baser urges. Soon he was crying in her arms, not knowing all along that she would just _die_ if they didn’t keep making love.

The two of them together, they held him and comforted him and moved against him slowly. She could feel the moment when he gave in, and it practically broke her heart. He was looking into her eyes as he did so, and she could tell that he saw that flicker there, that trace that she was there with him as well. But he obviously didn’t believe his eyes because he was fighting not to cry again then.

 _I’m sorry_ , she wanted to say, even as she reached dizzying new heights of ecstasy. Who knew it could be like this? _I’m so sorry, Spike. Our first time…it should have been special, momentous, earth-shattering. I wanted it to be absolutely perfect, baby. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I swear…_

She’d never cum so hard in her life. She’d always known it would be like this between them, though. He was the perfect fit, mind, body, and soul. He’d known it all along; she’d denied it long after he’d given in. But now she knew it, too. In that once perfect moment, there was no doubt in her mind that all the reservations that had been holding her back before were ridiculous. They were unquestionably meant to be.

 _I love you, Spike_ , she tried to convey it with her eyes, her body, but _She_ was still far too much in charge. _It’s OK, Spike. It was ME you made love to. The REAL ME. No, don’t cry! Don’t think I’ll stake you! Please, please, Spike, be all right. I love you, dammit! I LOVE YOU! Don’t leave me…_

It had been heart wrenching to see his suffering over the next day to say the least. She and Slave-Buffy had tried to comfort him all they could, but he just didn’t realize that it was the real her in there, too.

By the time the auction came around, she could hardly wait to get rid of this slave bitch and tell him the truth. He looked so sad and broken when he bought her. She wanted to look in his eyes the whole time, to let him know it was OK… Unfortunately, that wasn’t in Slave-Buffy’s programming.

Her impatience increased tenfold on the way home. Why was Spike taking so long, dammit?! Argh! Now he was wasting time talking to Dawn!

 _Let me out now!_ She wanted to scream. _Let me out so that I can tell you, so that I can make it all better…_

He fumbled with the key. Buffy made an internal sigh of exasperation.

He gave Dawn some heroic speech about getting what he deserved. _Oh, I’ll give you what you deserve all right…_

And then finally, _finally_ , that stupid Slave-Buffy fell away at his commands. She felt the walls that had restrained her falling away. Her mind stretched out slowly, learning how to take control of her body again.

She blinked once. Twice. Shook her head. And then when she opened her eyes again, she was in full control.

Dawn was in front of her now. Spike seemed to be hiding nervously beside her.

Buffy gave Dawn a quick smile before walking over to Spike…

And punching him in the nose.

Oops! Old Slayer habits died hard…


	9. The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

Spike squeezed his eyes shut tight, waiting for the killing blow. It didn’t come. He cautiously opened one eye to see Buffy staring down at him, hands on hips. Not good. He shut his eye once more and winced inwardly.

Things were silent for a second.

And then Dawn let out a delighted squeal. “You’re you again!” she exclaimed, wrapping Buffy up in a bone-crushing bear hug.

Buffy made an ‘oof’ sound as the overly-excited teen tackled her to the floor. “Yup,” she said with a small laugh. “All normal again.”

Spike ventured to open his eyes again. Buffy was smiling. And not looking at him. Both of these were good things.

She and Dawn managed to get up to their feet with much giggling and tripping each other up. It was only after Buffy had given Dawn a _proper_ hug that she turned back to Spike again.

“You gonna get up off that scrumptious, skinny white ass of your anytime soon, Spikey?” she asked, mirth in her eyes.

He sat there an extra second, trying to absorb the fact that she’d just called his ass “scrumptious”.

“Finally,” Dawn sighed in relief. “I thought I was the only one who’d noticed how cute his butt was.”

“One of those advantages to being a vampire,” Buffy tried not to laugh at the confused expression on Spike’s face. Why had she never noticed how much fun it was to tease him before? “All that exercise on the hunt…better than an Ass-Master.”

Spike seemed to figure out what was going on right about then and leapt up to his feet. “Oi, now!” he exclaimed, getting right in Buffy’s face…and then backing down the instant he remembered what he’d done. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered under his breath, staring intently at his boots.

Dawn gave him a curious look and then raised an eyebrow at Buffy, demanding an explanation.

Buffy gestured for Dawn to hold it off for a minute and then turned back to the shame-faced vampire. “Spikey,” she said softly.

He gulped. This was it. She _never_ used that soft voice with him unless she was really pissed. “Y-Yes?” he asked nervously.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked.

He looked her right in the eye. “Anything,” he said sincerely. “I meant what I said before.”

“Can you give Dawnie and me a minute alone together?”

This had been the last thing he’d expected her to ask, but he nodded apologetically and headed down into the basement without another word.

“Okaaay…” Dawn began, “I’ll bite. What the hell is going on?”

Buffy let out a deep breath. “The usual strangeness that is my life, combined with the misplaced guilt of contorted Spike logic to make it _extra_ fun.”

“Huh?” Dawn demanded clarification.

Buffy grimaced. “Spike thinks he raped me,” she finally confessed.

It took Dawn a minute to catch on. “Oh…Oh! When you were…you and he…” she trailed off, biting her lip nervously.

“Pretty much,” Buffy agreed, her head in her hands.

“That…bastard?” Dawn was having a difficult time judging Buffy’s reaction.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” she quickly jumped to Spike’s defense. Off of Dawn’s baffled look, she sighed again. “Slave-Buffy practically forced herself upon him, and even if she hadn’t…” Her face flushed a bright red.

Dawn gaped in amazement. “Y-You…” she began, pointing at Buffy. “You’re got a crush on him!” she finally accused.

“A bit more than a crush, actually,” Buffy whimpered slightly.

“Oh my god!” Dawn squealed. “This is so, _so_ cool! You’ve got to tell him quick! He’s been moping around ever since…” She got a thoughtful expression on her face as the missing pieces to the puzzle of Spike’s latest depression clicked into place.

“I know,” Buffy agreed, eyeing the basement door warily, “I have to tell him and… I’m sure the two of us can come up with _something_ to talk about to put this off longer,” she pleaded.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “It’s just Spike. You already know he loves you, so it’s not like there’s any danger of rejection. So, what are you so scared of?”

“Pizza!” Buffy’s eyes lit up when she came up with a distracting topic.

“You’re scared of pizza?” Dawn was completely baffled.

“No,” Buffy shook her head, “Spike’s been feeding you nothing but pizza since—”

“Buffy!” Dawn exclaimed in exasperation.

“ _Anything_ else,” Buffy begged.

Dawn got a wicked smile on her face. “How was he?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You know, when you and Spike…”

“I’m not telling you _that_!” Buffy gasped in embarrassment.

“Well, it’s either that or basement time,” Dawn insisted, arms crossed in front of her chest in a no-nonsense manner.

“But—” Buffy began.

“That good, huh?” Dawn said with an evil grin.

Buffy gulped once and decided to take her chances in the basement, slamming the door behind her to escape Dawn’s not-so-innocent and inquiring eyes. She winced when Spike’s flinch reminded her that he was deathly – or undeathly – afraid that she was about to stake him.

She gave him a small smile to indicate that it was okay.

He gulped in response.

She didn’t know what she could do to signal to him that she wasn’t mad, so she walked down to him and sat down on the mattress beside him. The same mattress where they had…

He looked at her resignedly, and she slowly reached over and took his hand. Now he was _really_ baffled…

“B-Buffy?” he began nervously.

“You never call me that,” she commented, her thumb rubbing comforting little circles into his palm. “You always call me ‘pet’ or ‘luv’ or…something like that.”

“You don’t mind?” The whole situation made no sense to him whatsoever, so he just decided to go with the flow…if he could find any. One part of him was cheering that Buffy didn’t seem to be all that angry with him after all; the other was waiting for the other shoe to drop…

“I don’t mind,” she said in a voice softer than any she’d ever used with him before. “I’ve never minded,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

Spike instinctively reached out with his free hand to cup her chin when she ducked her head. He moved to pull his hand away when he realized what he’d done, but she stopped him, catching his hand and now trapping them both beneath small, powerful, _warm_ fingers.

“I-I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me,” he finally confessed.

She placed a brief kiss on his palm, and the gesture so overwhelmed him that he almost missed her next words.

“You were kind to me…er, _her_ when you didn’t have to be. And you didn’t do anything wrong,” she quickly reassured him.

“How can you say that?” he bit back a sob. “I r-r…”

“You didn’t,” she insisted, placing her index finger over his lips to hush him. “I was there, remember? You didn’t know what was happening. _She_ took advantage, and by the time you knew what was going on, it was too late to stop it. If anything, _she_ raped _you_.” _She raped both of us_ , she added in her head, _took away the magic of our first time together…_

He looked properly offended at the idea of being raped, of course, and she quickly had to set his male ego right.

“It wasn’t your idea, there was nothing you could have done to stop it, and you felt terrible afterward,” she reminded him. “That all equals ‘not your fault’.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he informed her, turning away and shaking himself free of her hands as he did so. That Buffy actually saw the hardships that he had gone through and didn’t just condemn him as an evil demon who took advantage of the situation…it was more than he had ever hoped for. He still didn’t quite believe this was real. “Your words,” he began softly, flinching when he realized he’d accidentally slipped back into his more cultured accent, “they seem too good to be true…”

“I get that,” Buffy nodded behind his back, “but they are true. I…”— _love you, care about you, just want you to be happy again_ —“…wanted to thank you…”— _Coward!_ —“…f-for everything you’ve done for me and Dawn. I know this was really hard on you, but if you hadn’t saved Dawnie from those monsters, I-I don’t think I could’ve made it. Thank you,” she repeated softly.

He had turned back to face her as she made this speech, and she took advantage of the opportunity to place a short, gentle kiss on his lips.

His eyelids had fluttered shut by the time she pulled away, and she took a second to study his dark lashes. They really were quite lovely – long and slightly curled. Those and his lips softened the hard lines of his face just enough to make him beautiful and masculine all at the same time. Between her legs, her panties were becoming uncomfortably sticky.

 _C’mon_ , he mind egged her on, _you can’t come this close and then turn back…_ “Uh, yeah,” Buffy’s face turned bright red when he opened those beautiful blue eyes to look at her. “So, about the plan to defeat Rhitias… You got any suggestions?” _Crash and burn_ , her mind groaned in disgust.

He gave her a small smile, grateful at least that she hadn’t run away the instant she’d kissed him this time. He didn’t even care that the only time she ever lowered herself to touch him was in thanks; it was enough. _Wanker much?_ he asked rhetorically. Great. Now he was even starting to _think_ like her…

“We need to get the master key,” he said simply.

“And you’ve got a plan for doing this?” Buffy demanded.

Spike shrugged. “We track Rhitias down, you beat ‘im bloody, we steal the key.”

“That’s a _plan_?!” Buffy laughed.

Spike couldn’t help but crack a smile at that as well. “To tell the truth, luv,” he admitted, “I was so worried ‘bout you that din’t think much beyond freein’ you.”

She gave his thigh a gentle squeeze in response to that.

“B-But Nibblet an’ Anyanka got to conspirin’ a bit,” he added, desperate for any other shows of affection he could get. “Might wanna see what they’ve come up with. The Demon Bint even sent Bit a package. The two of ‘em together,” he shuddered, “hate to think ‘f what mischief they could create…”

“Whereas you and Dawn are the epitome of law-abiding citizens,” she teased, standing up and holding her hands out to Spike.

He eyed them warily for a second. “You’re really not gonna stake me?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Buffy said sarcastically, “I might if you don’t stop acting all broody.”

“Oi!” he exclaimed in complaint to being compared to Angel.

She gave him a coy little smile. “I like my vampires with a bit more…” Her eyes darted down to the crotch of his jeans for just a second. “… _spunk_ in them,” she informed him.

Had that been a double-entendre? From _Buffy_? Was she… _flirting_ with them?

“Got plenty of that,” he responded with a little smirk of his own, finally taking her hands.

“Mmm,” she said, blushing slightly as she pulled him up to his feet as well, “I remember…”

For a second they stood like that, hands still locked together, bodies only inches apart, before Buffy pulled nervously back and went up to question Dawn, Spike right behind her…

* * *

“Ah, Spike!” Rhitias said in obvious delight. “I see you’ve decided to join us after all…”

Spike nodded and forced a smile upon his face. “Jus’ had some business to take care of first,” he agreed.

Buffy nipped softly at his throat, and he had to bite back a groan as his erection pressed painfully against his jeans. Knowing that it was the _real_ Buffy – even while playing a role – made this all ten-times harder.

“I can see you were pleased with the lovely creature I leant you,” Rhitias said satisfactorily. He couldn’t imagine what the local demons were thinking when they warned him that Spike would be trouble. He had been the highest bidder. Maybe that was it: the others worried that he had enough money to snatch the best girls all up. “She must be quite the talent. Perhaps you’ll let me… _borrow_ her once or twice?”

Spike could feel Buffy coil up to strike, and he quickly cut her off with a kiss. It was a dangerous move, he knew, but he couldn’t resist just taking the _slightest_ advantage of this situation. And Buffy didn’t seem to mind. Actually, her tongue was now playing with his, and her hands were twined in his hair, and her body was pressed up tight against his, the warmth of her (mostly) bare skin against him almost too much to bear.

 _She sure is getting into this role_ , was his last coherent thought before the world dissolved around them. It felt like aeons had gone by when they finally broke apart, and it took Spike a moment to remember what was going on…

“Vampire, mate,” he said simply, “don’t like to share.”

“Of course,” agreed Rhitias. “She’s your girl now, to do with as you like.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans, “you must’ve made a killin’ offa this.”

Rhitias smiled over the top of his drink and began a discourse on one of his favorite topics: money. He didn’t even bother to look around when Dawn ‘accidentally’ bumped into him. Of course, her subsequent action of sidling up next to Spike was beyond suspicion. What he didn’t see was Dawn dropping the pouch with the master key into Spike’s duster pocket as she did so.

Phase One of the plan completed, Spike began to grow immensely bored with Rhitias’ endless run-on sentence. He would have sworn the demon hadn’t come to a period in over ten minutes. And could he pick a duller monotonous drone if he tried?

Spike not-so-discreetly yawned.

Rhitias remained oblivious, going on and on and on and…

Spike yawned again.

Buffy couldn’t agree with his sentiments more and suddenly came up with a brilliant means of escape. “You’re tired, honey,” she announced. “You must be worn out from all that sex we had this afternoon. We should go home and sleep…after we have more sex.” She’d quickly learned that the fastest way to fool these demons was to directly quote Anya at her most blunt. It had the added amusing side effect of causing Spike to make this entertaining little choking noise.

“Of course,” Rhitias abruptly agreed, “it’s been a long, busy night. By all means,” he added with a wink, “enjoy.”

Spike bustled Buffy and Dawn away before either could go ballistic on the sleazy demon. They quickly found a little nook off to the side of one of the main hallways leading into the ballroom, and Dawn kept watch while Buffy and Spike slipped inside.

Spike promptly removed the emerald green key from the pouch Dawn had ‘acquired’ and studied it for a moment before inserting it in Buffy’s collar.

“You know how to work this thing, right?” she demanded impatiently when he tried to open her collar and failed.

“Trial an’ error, pet,” he gave her a sheepish shrug before trying to command the collar to come off…

* * *

“A lovely party, Rhitias,” one of the highest paying human buyers announced, “but I should like to take the new wares home for a test run now, if you don’t mind.” He gestured to the three girls he’d just bought.

“Of course,” Rhitias nodded, separating himself from the conversation he’d been involved in and gesturing for the buyer to enter his office, “we’ll get your keys made straightaway.”

In the seclusion of the office, Rhitias removed three clear keys from the stockpile and placed them in the girls’ collars, ready to program.

He reached into his right pocket to retrieve the master key…and frowned.

Shaking his head at his absentmindedness, he checked the left pocket. Still nothing.

His expression turned to outright panic when he began desperately patting down all his pockets, searching for the key.

“Something wrong?” the buyer asked, concerned.

Rhitias’ mouth set in a cold, grim line when he removed the tassel the key’s pouch had been attached to and saw that the knots had been deliberately untied.

It didn’t take him more than a second to guess who was responsible, and his eyes narrowed with rage.

“He stole it,” he said in a low hiss. “That treacherous little vampire stole it!”

* * *

Dawn moved to warn Spike and Buffy when Rhitias – followed by a truly angry crowd of men – rounded the corner.

However, Rhitias spotted her before she could move a muscle. “Stop,” he ordered, halting her instantly in her tracks, the glazed look overcoming her eyes once more as she fell back under his spell. “Stand aside,” he ordered before pushing the curtain back to expose Buffy, the gold collar still around her neck, and Spike still fiddling with the master key.

The pair turned abruptly at the intrusion and gulped when they saw the force of their opposition.

Rhitias turned to Buffy. “Come here,” he ordered.

She was at his side in an instant, leaving Spike alone to face the mob.

“Well, Mr. Spike,” Rhitias said with a cold smile, “it looks like you’re in a bit of trouble…”


	10. Waking

“Tsk, tsk,” Rhitias shook his head, “and we were doing so well, too.” He narrowed his eyes at Spike. “What kind of fool are you, anyway?”

Spike snorted in disgust. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “ _I’m_ the fool… You’re the one tha’s tryin’ to control the whole bleedin’ town. You’re jus’ lucky ‘m the only one who’s stood up to you so far.”

“Silence!” Rhitias exclaimed. He turned to the crowd around him and spotted the hypnotized Dawn. “Come here, pretty one,” he gestured to her.

Spike moved to stop him, but two large, burly demons caught hold of his arms.

Rhitias smiled in triumph as Dawn approached him. “You are a pretty, young thing, aren’t you?” he said with false sweetness, running one hand through her hair.

“Don’t touch her!” Spike cried out.

“Innocent, too,” Rhitias ignored the vampire’s futile outburst. “I can see why he went to so much trouble to protect you… Darryl?” he inquired of the vampire buyer beside him.

“Still a virgin,” Darryl confirmed, sniffing the air as a wicked grin spread across his face. “Her blood smells sweet and fresh.”

Rhitias turned cold eyes to Spike. “You may have her then,” he said, still giving Spike a stony appraisal. “Make sure you’re extra rough with her…” He waited for the look of complete and abject despair on Spike’s face.

It didn’t come. Instead, the vampire merely rolled his eyes. “That’s one helluva death wish you’ve got, mate,” he shook his head.

Rhitias frowned in confusion and then let out one gurgling gasp when the Slayer – who’d been so innocently sidled up beside him – promptly turned on him and snapped his neck. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, still conscious but very much paralyzed.

Darryl, who had just taken Dawn by the wrist, stared dumbly as Buffy plunged her stake deep into his heart. “Hey,” he complained the instant before he turned to dust, “you can’t do that…”

The two guards – and everyone else in the room, for that matter – stood completely still, stunned beyond belief as Buffy quickly turned against her ‘masters’. Buffy quickly ripped one of the two off of Spike and hit him with a roundhouse kick that sent him flying down the hallway to collapse in a heap against the far wall.

Spike had used the opportunity to vamp out at his remaining captor, his razor-sharp claws ripping the demon’s head clear from its body. He then stopped to pick Dawn up by the waist, throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

He and Buffy both took off down the hallway while the shocked – and somewhat frightened – crowd flinched back away from them.

Just as Spike and Buffy were about to round the corner, Spike stopped and turned back. “For authentic, safe replicas of any magical object, visit the Magic Box!” he shouted out.

“Spike!” Buffy exclaimed in exasperation, grabbing his wrist and pulling her around the bend after her.

The crowd blinked. Practically in unison.

“Don’t just stand there, you idiots!” Rhitias exclaimed, abruptly realizing that he still had control over his vocal chords, at least. “Stop them! They’ll ruin everything!”

With that, the massive crowd of demons snapped out of their stupor and took off after the retreating pair.

* * *

“What,” Buffy asked in annoyance as they rounded yet another bend and found that it also didn’t lead to the door, “did Anya _pay_ you to say that?”

Spike gave her a sheepish look. “Well, actually I owed ‘er from earlier since I forgot to put the address for on-line orders up.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“What?” Spike demanded, gesturing to one way they hadn’t tried yet. They took off at breakneck speed again. “’S damn good advertisin’.”

“Have I mentioned lately how absolutely infuriating you are?” Buffy asked sarcastically.

“An’ that’s why you love me, Slayer,” Spike responded with a cheeky grin.

She blushed and intentionally looked away from him. Fortunately, she had a good excuse. They were in exactly the same place they’d been just a minute ago. “Argh!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t there any way out of this stupid place?”

Spike looked down each of the corridors they’d tried. “There’s a way out back through the ballroom,” he commented.

Buffy looked back the way they’d come in. “Yeah, through about fifty pissed off demons.”

They exchanged a look.

“You first,” Spike agreed.

Buffy nodded. “Right. I’ll try to keep them away from Dawn.”

“And since ‘m carryin’ her, that means you ‘ave you save my lovely hide as well,” Spike said with a small smirk.

“Ugh,” Buffy gave him a playful little wink, “don’t remind me…” The two rounded the bend…

And came face to face with a huge mob of angry demons, humans, and females slaves bearing torches thrown into the mix. Everyone skittered to a halt when they saw each other.

And then the male mob let out a war cry and rushed them.

“Not such a good idea,” Spike abruptly decided when he assessed the size of the enemy.

“Spike!” Buffy called from just a little way back on the corridor.

He saw the side kitchen door she’d just discovered and dashed inside, Buffy close on his heels. She slammed the door closed behind them just as the mob reached it.

Spike quickly sat Dawn down on one of the countertops and helped her barricade the door. However, even as they did so, the hinges began to give way under the assault on the other side.

“C’mon,” Buffy gestured to the door at the far end of the kitchen.

Spike took up Dawn again, and they ran for it.

With a sigh of relief, they slammed the second kitchen door shut behind them and moved to barricade it as well…

And that’s when they noticed that half the demons had stayed behind to cut them off here. Behind them, they heard the other group of demons finally break into the kitchen. They were effectively trapped.

“Oops,” Buffy said nervously.

Next to her, Spike put Dawn back down and prepared to fight. “Any bright ideas, luv?” he asked off-handedly, masking the worry in his voice.

“Yeah,” Buffy joked wryly, “the cavalry arrives just in time to save the day…”

Spike frowned for a second and took in the assorted crowd of male buyers and female slaves. “Now there’s an idea…” he said thoughtfully.

Buffy didn’t have time to ask him what he meant, though, because at that moment they were besieged. She got in a few good blows before the sheer magnitude of the mob overcame her, and she was tackled onto the ground. She looked to Spike for help and was surprised to fight that he hadn’t been at her back during the fight.

For a second, her mind reeled in horror at the fact that he’d abandoned her, just like all the others. And then that brash, sarcastic British accent that set her nerves on edge and her flesh ablaze shouted out from the far side of the room. Buffy was forced to conclude that he’d done one of those vampire move-faster-than-the-eye-can-see tricks.

“Oi, all you!” Spike was standing atop the central table in the ballroom.

Everyone paused, puzzled by this spectacle.

He quickly made his intentions clear, however, when he whipped the green master key out of his pocket. “You bints! See this? It means ‘m in charge.”

The slaves in the room all tacitly acknowledged this fact by turning away from their respective buyers to face him.

“Yeah,” he said with a cocky grin on his face, “so here’s my orders. See those wankers that just bought you? Well… _attack_!”

The room instantly exploded in chaos.

Buffy’s captors were yanked off of her by a pair of warrior Varella Demons – infamous as the fiercest warrior women on the face of the earth…well, except for the Slayer, of course. The twin sisters let out an ululating battle cry as the quickly disposed of their opponents and turned to go crazy on the rest of the male population of the room, as well.

Buffy shakily got to her feet and witnessed the complete and absolute slaughter. Full-sized Fyarl Demons clutched at their heads and ran in terror of angry mobs of human women. Human and demon women alike were finding every creative way imaginable to stake the vampires present. And the human men…

Buffy let out a weary sigh when that sleazy human that had tried to buy her fell at her feet, an eight foot Chiranga female ready to bash his head in with a metal folding chair. Reluctantly, she stopped the demon.

“I got him,” she insisted.

The demon nodded and rejoined the battle.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and plucked another couple of the human males out of the battle. Sometimes doing the right thing really sucked.

The women were quickly winning the battle. Apparently, all that bottled up tension was coming through nicely given their current orders. Buffy couldn’t help but smile a bit at the one time her and Slave-Buffy’s wishes coincided…

She was so caught up in the happy memories that she let out a little ‘eep’ of surprise when she was caught roughly from behind. She twisted to fight but stopped when a deep voice whispered in her ear.

“Miss me, luv?”

Buffy gave him a playful bat on the end and pulled free of his embrace. She did favor him with a grateful little smile, though, when she saw that he’d pulled Dawn out of the battle and had her beside him.

“Nice to sit back an’ just enjoy the show for once, ‘ey pet?” he said, sitting Dawn down on a bench and placing the master key into her collar. He then repeated the command that he’d finally found had worked on Buffy’s collar just before Rhitias had burst in. “Don’ like my girls willin’,” he said with a slight grimace. “Want the collar gone so I ‘ave ta use force.”

The collar popped off of Dawn’s neck, and her eyes returned to normal.

“By the way,” Buffy commented off-handedly, “I am so going to kill you for saying that.”

“Had ta get into that creep’s mind to find the only reason ‘e’d ever remove the collars, din’t I?” Spike exclaimed in his defense.

She put one hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and used the other one to ruffle up his neatly slicked-back platinum curls. “Just kidding, Spikey,” she assured him, giggling at the annoyed scowl he favored her with while he flattened his hair back into place.

His action was immediately defeated when Dawn leapt into his arms, messing up his hair all over again. She began sobbing lightly against his shoulder at what had nearly happened to her, and Buffy joined in the impromptu group hug as well, slowly stroking Dawn’s back, her skin tingling and cheeks flushing whenever she and Spike accidentally brushed together.

Soon Dawn had calmed and gave Buffy and Spike each one quick peck on the cheek.

“’d give you this,” Spike held out the spare gold band Anya had had made, “but looks like we don’ need ‘em for the plan anymore.”

“Which reminds me,” Buffy said, removing her own mock-slave collar, “these things chafe…” She stretched her neck out in relief.

“Don’ know,” Spike teased. “Didn’t look so back on you, Slayer. Gold’s definitely your color.”

Buffy let out an exasperated sigh, followed by a quick, nervous smile.

Spike cocked his head curiously at her at that.

Buffy was once again saved by the bell, however. One final cry of victory from the Varellas, and Buffy and Spike were brought back to the battle before them…or the complete lack thereof. Total victory was theirs.

Spike cocked his head in the direction of the human males Buffy had pulled aside and to safety, but she shook her head vehemently no. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to the throng of slaves. “OK, ladies, that’s it for the fightin’. Now, why don’t you all line up so we can get rid of those collars for ya?”

Casting one nervous look over at the two Varellas, Spike quickly handed the master key over to Buffy.

“Ew!” she exclaimed. “There’s no way I can say… _that_!”

Dawn rolled her eyes and snatched the key from Buffy. “God, you are _such_ a prude! _I’ll_ do it…”

Hence began the long and arduous process of removing every single collar by hand. After a while, Buffy nodded to Spike, and he left her and Dawn to their task while he went to go clean up one last loose end.

Rhitias was still lying in the middle of the hallway where Buffy had snapped his neck, unable to move.

With a sadistic little smile, Spike stood over him, letting him know all too well that his end was near. “The spell,” he demanded in a voice that brooked no argument, “where is it?”

“I-In my office,” Rhitias stuttered nervously. He was inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, though. The vampire just wanted the spell for himself. Maybe he’d even let him go after he had it…

Spike grabbed hold of the back of his collar and dragged the demon’s limp body back past the line of increasingly freed woman and into the office.

“Where?” he demanded once more.

“B-Behind the painting. There’s a safe.”

Spike found it instantly and turned a scowl at him when he saw the lock.

“Four right, twenty-seven left, fifty-three right,” he instantly confessed.

Far more experience ‘working with’ safes than he’d ever let Buffy know allowed Spike to open it in less than a second. He instantly found the papers with the spell on them and read them over carefully, just to make sure he had the right one.

“This the only copy?” he inquired, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

“Y-Yes,” Rhitias agreed readily.

“Good.” With that, he flicked his lighter on again and set the papers ablaze.

Rhitias gulped when he realized that he wasn’t buying his way to freedom after all.

“Now,” Spike said, “’bout those buyers that’ve already gone home…”

* * *

“We two thank you, warrior to warrior,” one of the two Varellas was saying.

Buffy managed a smile. Everyone in the ballroom was free now, and most of the demons had departed, the two silver-skinned warrior women the only ones that hadn’t been a bit put off by their nearness to the Slayer.

Buffy breathed a little sigh of relief when she saw Spike drag Rhitias back over; the Varellas seemed so disgusted by the very concept of men that Buffy felt sure they would leave. However, much to her surprise, the other of the two sisters leaned in conspiratorially.

“Your concubine is not bad…for a man,” she said with a little smile that reminded Buffy only too much of Rhitias’. “I don’t suppose you’d ever care to share him? Only with your fellow sisters in arms, of course.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Spike’s his own man,” she said icily. “If you’re interested, I suggest you ask _him_.”

“Ask permission of a _man_?!” they huffed in outrage before stalking off.

“Just to prove that men aren’t the only sleazy ones,” Buffy said with a small shudder.

Dawn nodded in disgust.

“Wha’s all that then?” Spike said cheerfully enough as he plopped Rhitias down at Buffy’s feet, looking for all the world like a cat that had just left a mouse on the front doorstep.

“Nothing,” Buffy insisted, “just latent creepiness. The spell?”

“Ashes.”

“Then we don’t have any more need of this slime?”

 “I-I have money!” Rhitias begged. “Riches! Spells!”

“Coward,” Dawn scowled at him, and he tried and failed to cringe away for the venom in her eyes.

“None at all,” Spike agreed with Buffy’s assessment, a wicked grin on his face.

“Good.” One quick slash of the dagger Buffy’d ‘borrowed’ from one of the demon corpses, and Rhitias’ head was off, dark green demon blood seeping into the carpet. She wiped her hands off satisfactorily afterwards. “So that only leaves…”

“Y-You saved our lives,” one of the human buyers stepped forward magnanimously. “I assure you, if there’s anything we can do to repay the favor—”

“The only reason you’re still alive,” Buffy cut him off harshly, “is because I’m not the law for humans. There are other means of dealing with you.”

He scoffed. “You’ve got nothing that will hold up in court,” he insisted.

“I don’t know,” Buffy turned to the remaining human women. “OK, who’s willing to file charges of attempted rape?”

Dozens of hands shot into the air, and the buyers’ faces went pale.

“We can take them from here,” two women stepped forward from the crowd. “Sunnydale PD,” they said by way of explanation.

Buffy nodded. “Those that’ve already left…?”

“Got the list right here,” Spike patted his duster pocket.

“Let’s go then,” Buffy said with a resigned sigh. “I’ve had _way_ too much of this mess already…”

* * *

“I still say that’s _way_ kinky,” Dawn shuddered as they waited on the doorstep of the last house on their list. Fortunately, the vast majority of the male population that had _not_ been involved in Rhitias’ auction had risen up and taken out almost half the buyers as they left the building. It was encouraging to know that only a hundred or so nuts had actually fully approved of the demon’s scheme.

“’m not complainin’,” Spike shrugged. “Finally got some use outta that other collar we bought from Anyanka, din’t we?”

“So are you going to give her the money you got for it?” Dawn demanded.

“’Ell no!” Spike exclaimed. “Bought the damn thing, fair an’ square. It was _mine_.”

“Ugh,” Buffy shuddered, “why anyone would want to keep a reminder of all this is beyond me.”

“How about actually boinking the guy that bought you _willingly_?” Dawn countered. “Now _that’s_ crazy.”

“Dawnie!” Buffy’s eyes opened wide with alarm. “You weren’t supposed to be looking!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dawn rolled her eyes, “’cause I couldn’t figure it out from the nakedness and the moaning…”

Buffy let out a little whimper of despair. “I’ve finally warped my little sister’s mind…”

“In all fairness, luv,” Spike added, “was the two in bed that warped ‘er. And you say _I’m_ twisted…”

“I take it back,” Buffy agreed. “Nothing on this planet is more twisted than those two. And, as for you…” she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “you’re not twisted, baby, you’re _bent_.”

Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief, but just then the door opened and a very angry Chaos Demon emerged. Before Spike had even registered this fact, a massive antler hit him squarely in the forehead. He flew backwards against the pavement, and Buffy cried out in alarm.

“You are _so_ dead!” she hissed at the demon with narrowed eyes.

The series of kicks and blows that followed were so fast that the poor demon couldn’t even see them before they hit. In mere seconds, he was flat on his back, Buffy’s newest dagger at his throat. A gurgled cry, and he was no more.

“Get the girls,” Buffy ordered Dawn before turned nervously to the unconscious vampire. She just barely fought the urge to run to his side and instead settled for a fast walk. She breathed a little sigh of relief when she saw that it was just a nasty bump on the head. With vampire healing, he’d no doubt be perfectly normal again in a couple of hours.

Dawn came out then, with Janice of all people. Dawn quickly nodded in reassurance to Buffy that her friend hadn’t been violated yet.

“I-I’m going to walk her home, OK, Buffy?” Dawn requested.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded. “Stay as long as you want. And…maybe you should visit all your other friends, too. Just to make sure they’re OK, I mean…”

“And so that I’m out of the house,” Dawn added astutely.

“And so that you’re out of the house,” Buffy parroted back automatically, a little too absorbed in the way that one stubborn curl of Spike’s just refused to be slicked back. Her eyes widened when she realized what she’d just said. “No, I mean!” she gaped in embarrassment.

Dawn laughed. “Don’t worry,” she reassured her sister, “this’ll finally give me the opportunity to catch up on all those sleepovers you’ve been refusing to let me go to lately.”

Buffy’s mouth gaped in a way that was oddly reminiscent of certain fish.

“Catching flies?” Dawn teased before she headed off with Janice. “And, don’t worry, I’ll be gone _all_ night…”

Buffy stood there for another minute at least, face flushed a deep maroon color. And then she realized that she and Spike were alone…for the whole night. The beginnings of a smile slipped upon her lips then, and she carefully lifted the unconscious vampire up in her arms, cradling him against her chest as if he were something precious to her and carrying him home…


	11. Perchance to Dream

He was dreaming. There was no other explanation for it.

Soft, warm, wet, light little kisses were gently touching his face all over. Hot, tiny hands were caressing his hair, his face, his chest… It was heaven.

He was dreaming. He had to be.

He kept his eyes shut, desperately hoping to prolong his dream as much as was possible. More sensations came to him now, one by one. The feel of a soft breath against his cheek, the sound of a pounding heartbeat, that delicious scent that was so perfectly Buffy, powerful and feminine all at once…

Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath, savoring the scent.

“Hey, pretty vampire,” Buffy’s voice cooed to him softly, “you awake?”

It didn’t surprise him that his angel was Buffy. He’d known that all along. But he still kept his eyes shut tight, knowing that she would be gone and he would be alone the instant he awoke.

Buffy leaned over and whispered right in his ear. “C’mon, Spike. Wakey, wakey…”

He squeezed his eyes shut desperately, wanting to give in to her but afraid all at the same time.

“Stupid, stubborn vampire,” Buffy grumbled under her breath. “I know you’re awake.”

He refused to acknowledge this fact, remaining still as a…well, corpse.

“Please, baby,” she leaned in close, her lips oh-so-carefully brushing each of his shut eyelids, “Slayer wants to play…”

He gulped. “You’re sure you’re not Slave-Buffy?” he asked warily, eyes still shut. “’Cause last time I woke up…”

“Collar free,” she assured him, a little feline grin crossing her face when she decided it was time to play dirty. “Hey, Spike…?” she began.

“Yeah?”

“Wake up!” Her hand enclosed the growing bulge at the front of his jeans and gave him a gentle squeeze as she did so.

His eyes shot wide open, and his hips jerked up against her. “Christ, Buffy!” he cried aloud, panting raggedly now with want.

“Mmm,” Buffy – a very real, not slave, not dream Buffy – sidled up against him on the bed, resting her head in the crook of his neck and placing one small hand over his unbeating heart, holding it, claiming it…

“You’re real,” Spike commented softly, confused. He noticed the room around him for the first time. He was in her house. Her room. Her...bed.

“You know,” she frowned slightly, “you could’ve slept up here with me instead of making us both stay in that grungy basement.”

“Din’t know I was invited,” he countered.

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Well, you’re invited now,” she informed him gently, leaning over him to steal a kiss from his lips.

A real kiss. No spell, no possession, no tricks, no excuses…just a genuine, romantic kiss. The merest brushing of lips across lips, sweet and chaste and…

Buffy yelped and her reverie was shattered when Spike caught rough hold of her waist and pulled her down to him hard, attacking her lips with wonderful, bruising intensity, his tongue flicking across them, demanding that she open up and let him inside.

She eagerly did so and moaned at his tongue’s invasion. He was demanding, powerful, brutal…and sweet and loving all at once. She pressed herself down even closer to him and proceeded to fight back, using her tongue and her sex as her weapons now.

Their bodies ground together, desperate to get closer than was physically possible…with their clothes on, at least. Their tongues thrusted and parried…and then stroked and caressed, before returning to battle once more.

Buffy knew that she hadn’t bothered to breathe in a very, very long time, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was more Spike, closer, deeper…

He finally pushed her away just before he roughly assessed she would die of oxygen depravation. If her desperate, needy little gulps for air were any indication, he’d stopped her just in the nick of time. Or maybe he had done that to her. It was hard to tell. And more than a little confusing.

“Buffy,” he began slowly, “why—?”

“Shh,” her index finger pressed against his lips, hushing him. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him softly, her fingers moving to tangle in his peroxide locks. They were just as soft and silky as she remembered them. She absentmindedly wondered how he kept them like that with all the bleach, but that was a matter for another time. “After all,” she said with a small grin, “I’ve got a _lot_ I need to make up to you…”

His eyelids fluttered shut and he gasped in anticipation when her lips found the sensitive bite mark on his throat and sucked it softly.

“I-I…” he began once more and was cut off by a quick kiss.

“All you have to know,” she whispered against his lips, “is: You. Me. Bed. Alone. Unless…you’re not interested?” she couldn’t help but tease.

His eyes widened at that, just before that wicked grin she’d come to know and love spread across his lips. “’d say ‘m _up_ for a round or two…or ten,” he countered, grinding his rock-hard erection up into her suggestively.

She giggled in response…and then screeched when she was tackled back onto the mattress by five feet ten inches of very horny vampire.

His body pulsed rhythmically against hers, rising and falling in a way that eluded to more intimate motion, and his hands and lips were suddenly upon her everywhere, licking, caressing, nibbling, twisting, sucking, grabbing…

Buffy wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Her body was already screaming with pleasure, and she was still fully clothed. Still, death by Spike sex – not at all a bad way to go…

She pulled him down to her roughly so that he lay fully atop her, his weight feeling wonderful on her chest. She had been aching for his touch for so long that now she didn’t think she’d _ever_ be able to get enough of it…

Her fingers found the hem of his black T-shirt and scrambled to pull it up, scratching, touching, and caressing the smooth skin she found beneath as she went.

He groaned and moved to mirror her actions but got frustrated when her blouse got caught between her back and the mattress. With a frustrated growl, he ripped the material in two, exposing her bared chest to his hungry gaze.

The violent gesture had Buffy oddly aroused, and her eyes went wide at the first feel of his mouth upon her bare breast. After all, she’d been no fool; she’d known the clothes would be off soon, so why bother with underwear? But the wanton destruction of her shirt…

“’ll buy you a new one,” Spike promised before she’d even opened her mouth to object, “just…a bad time for clothing right now, luv.”

“Mmm,” she agreed when his mouth returned to her nipple, his tongue flicking it back and forth in a random staccato that had her toes curling into the mattress. Her fingers laced into his hair, and she held him to her, letting her head fly back in wild abandon. Why had she waited so long to do this again? Oh yeah, because she was an idiot. It was the only explanation.

“I’m an idiot,” she told him softly.

He looked up at her at that, scarred eyebrow raised.

“You there all along,” she began, “and me too scared to do anything about it.”

He gave her the sweetest, most gorgeous dimpled smile she’d ever seen. The void between her thighs began to pulse with need at the mere sight of it.

“Are you scared now?” he asked softly.

She bit her lip. “A little…”

“Don’t be.” He was at eye-level with her now, looking down at her with that soft smile and stroking her hair comfortingly. “’d never hurt you, pet. You know that…”

“So speaks the guy whose previous mission in life was to kill me,” Buffy teased.

Spike laughed at that. Their mortal enemies phase had long since become a source of amusement between them. “’S part of my master plan,” he mock-confessed, nipping at her throat, “get you nice an’ wound up an’ in bed…”

“And then fuck me to death?” she giggled.

“Mmm, sounds like a good plan to me…” His fingers strayed to the side zipper of her skirt, and the entire thing came off with one quick tug. He cocked his head at her suspiciously when he found nothing underneath.

“Underwear just gets in the way, anyway,” she said with a small smile.

“’ve always thought so myself,” Spike agreed, pulling down his own zipper now to prove to her that it was true.

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly of the size of him. _Oh yeah_ , her mind reminded her. _Reason Number Ninety-Six to have sex with Spike: How could you_ possibly _have forgotten how big he was?_

“Don’t think ‘ve ever seen a woman struck speechless by the sight ‘f me before,” he teased, shimmying out of his jeans and kicking them off to the side. “Don’ worry, though, pet. You already know we… _fit_ …”

Her rolled her eyes in annoyance and proceeded to tackle him back onto the bed, clutching at his hair with both hands and placing frantic open-mouthed kisses on his lips as she did so.

Not one to be left out of the fun, Spike joined in the latest battle as well. The two of them twisted and pushed, rolling over and over, fighting for dominance. And, all the while, their lips never drifted more than a few millimeters apart.

Spike let out a delighted little moaned when Buffy’s latest battle tactic involved wrapping one long leg around his waist and forcing his hips to twist with hers. The tip of his erection brushed against the very height of her wetness during the maneuver, and when they finally landed, Buffy on top, their eyes were both wide with wonder at the sensation.

“Buffy…?” His voice sounded strangely uncertain, needy, vulnerable…

“I’m so sorry about what happened our first time,” she informed him softly, taking his pulsing length in one hand and lining it up with her soft opening. “I-I didn’t want it to happen like that. I wanted it to be just _perfect_ …”

“’S all right,” he whispered back, deeply touched, the thought entering his head for the first time that maybe she really did care…

“Let me make it up to you,” she requested. “Please?” This last bit was timid, shy.

Spike couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. “You honestly think ‘d refuse an offer like that, luv? Been waitin’ to hear those words for a _long_ time now…”

She blushed and leaned in to kiss him. “More words than those,” she suggested tantalizingly.

And, before he could demand to know what she meant, she thrust down hard, impaling herself deep upon him. The two of them froze and gasped, looking deep into each other’s eyes, both asking the same question: _How can it possibly feel this good?_

Slowly, Buffy’s inner walls stretched out to accommodate him more fully, and she lowered herself further as they did so, taking him in deeper inch by agonizing inch.

Spike was torn between squeezing his eyes shut tight at the near agonizing pleasure of finally sheathed in the warmth of the woman he loved and keeping their gazes locked the entire time she inched lower and lower onto his hardness.

Right about the time their rough curls mingled, they both simultaneously decided they couldn’t take it anymore. Spike gripped her hips roughly and threw his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut tight as he thrust his aching member up into her tight wetness.

Buffy rode down on him at that same moment, and their pelvises met with bruising intensity. A frantic, desperate pace followed, Buffy placing her hands in the center of his chest, holding him down as she rode him at a gallop.

Spike’s hands continued to squeeze the cheeks of her ass, creating a regular pulse: squeeze, release, squeeze, release.

Buffy started when Spike let out a desperate little whimper and realized absentmindedly that she’d started to move her Slayer muscles in time with his squeezes. She panicked for a second before she remembered that she didn’t have to worry…she wouldn’t hurt him; she could just _let go_ for once. And, oh, did it feel _wonderful_ …

Spike had lost any semblance of control by now, and he thrust up into her as hard and fast as he could, losing any rhythm out of his desire to just be further, deeper, just a little more…

His hands dropped from Buffy’s hips, and he fisted them in the sheets as quick, white-hot jolts of pleasure stabbed through him at every squeeze.

The second she saw they were available, she caught his hands with her own, pinning his wrists down to the mattress on either side of his head. Her body leaned forward against him as she did so until her breasts were pressed flat against his chest, her entire body stretched out over his.

The both groaned in pleasure at the new angle and the delightful new ways it allowed them to move together. Buffy’s clit rubbed hard into his rough curls now with every stroke. Her soft, flattened mounds rolled against the flat nipples of his chest as she moved on top of him, and her fingers twined with his, her thumbs remaining behind to rub tender little circles into the pulse points of his wrists.

She was on top of him and all around him, the scent, the feel – not to mention those sexy little mewls – and the sensations finally overwhelmed him.

He came with a thunderous roar, his entire body tensing for a second before he poured all his pleasure back into her.

Buffy screamed. She had never screamed before in her life, but that look of pure ecstasy on Spike’s face and the feel of his chilled seed just _exactly_ hitting that one spot deep within her that burned the most for his touch… She just lost it, clutching at him frantically, gasping as wave upon wave of rapture exploded through her. She had never felt anything like it; it just keep building more and more until…

“I love you, Buffy,” he somehow managed to gasp out despite the fact that his brain was blinded by the searing white light.

Yeah, that did it. “Spike, Spike, Spike!” she cried out as all the emotional barriers she’d spent so many years came crashing down in a heartbeat, no doubt in her mind now that she’d transcended the bounds of human pleasure. All restraint, worries, insecurities, fears – completely broken away. “Oh, Spike… I love you, Spike. I love you, I love you, I love you, I…” The intensity of her orgasm hadn’t even diminished in the slightest, and she had the giddy thought: _He really is going to kill me…_

And, then, the next second she realized that her fears were unfounded, and the world disappeared from under them, and they were falling, falling… And Buffy blacked out at the intensity of it all…

For several minutes, neither moved save for Buffy’s ragged breathing and pounding heartbeat and Spike’s hips which still thrust shallowly into her, as if moving inside her were just as vital and necessary to him as breathing was to her.

It took a while, even after that, for Spike to finally recognize reality once more. Love of his unlife on top of him, soft mattress behind him, and his still-hard cock inside of her… Now why had he ever bothered to escape this world in the first place? Oh yeah, mind-numbing, all-consuming pleasure. And Buffy there right along with him.

He sighed contentedly and slowly extricated one hand from her tiny grasp, raising his shaky hand to stroke her hair. To tell the truth, he’d never in his one hundred plus years of existence experiencing anything that even approached the power of what they’d just done.

As he continued to pet her unconscious body, his mind struggled to remember something, something important… The passion of the moment had almost completely blinded him but, ah, that was it: _I love you, Spike. I love you…_

He pinched himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Smiled a contented smile when he felt the sharp sting on his hand.

“My Buffy,” he whispered softly into her hair, “my Slayer, my love…”

She stirred, murmuring happily when she realized that she also had really awoken in Spike’s arms for once. She blinked lazily several times and yawned.

“Tha’s all it takes to wear out the famed Slayer, then?” Spike teased, stroking her hip and thigh gently as he did so.

She gave him an annoyed little eye roll. “Could outlast you any day of the week,” she teased, sliding against his body once more, feeling him still deep inside her.

Spike fought back a little yawn of his own. There was plenty of time for relaxing morning afters later. Shaking his head back into full consciousness, he gave her his trademark smirk before using her lassitude to his advantage, flipping them over so that he was on top.

Buffy let out an excited little gasp as he timed the maneuver perfectly so that he pushed even deeper inside her as they rolled. She looked up into those wild, stormy-blue eyes of him, and his beauty almost took her breath away…and then it was the feel of him thrusting into her core once more.

They were both too exhausted from the emotional intensity of the previous orgasm to hold out for long this time. No, this union was about promises of things to come, a quick assurance that they weren’t just a one-time thing.

Buffy wrapped her ankles around his waist, pulling him in closer. Her hands gripped his forearms with bruising intensity, threatening to topple the only supports that held him above her, looking down into her eyes the entire time, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…

“S-S-Spike?” she gasped out, her voice wavering with the force of his strokes.

“Yeah, luv?” he voice was deep and low, husky with emotion and…a trifle more upper class than usual?

“C’mere,” she tugged on his arm lightly.

He lowered himself so that their lips were just a hairsbreadth apart. A wicked smirk curled on the edges of his lips.

An even wickeder one was on hers. Afterwards, she couldn’t really say what had possessed her to do it, but at that moment, it was the only thing on her mind.

She pulled his head down to hers…and twisted to the side just at the last moment, sinking her blunt teeth into the mark on his throat as she did so.

Spike howled out in ecstasy and came at her actions, his orgasm fast and hard. Buffy quaked beneath him as well, her pleasure in time with his as though they had been practicing for years together.

Buffy waited for him to still on top of her before she released him. “I’ve marked you now,” she said softly. “That means you can never leave me.” She gestured for him to roll off her as she did so, and he complied, settling beside her, their bodies still lazily intertwined.

“Never,” he swore.

“You’ll stay with me no matter what?” She turned her back to him and shut her eyes, smiling when he spooned up tight against her.

“Till the end of the world, luv,” he agreed with a shy smile.

“Then I guess it’s OK,” she said thoughtfully to herself. “I love you, Spike,” she said sleepily before drifting off to sleep.

“Humph,” Spike grumbled in mock-annoyance that she was no longer around to celebrate her latest admissions with him. “Love you more,” he felt obliged to shoot back before he drifted off as well, his body exhausted and, for once, completely satisfied…


	12. What Dreams May Come

_Bring._

Spike groaned and buried his dead deeper into the pillow.

 _Bring._

What the bloody hell was making that terrible racket? It sounded like those irritating little buzzing fairies had invaded his crypt.

 _Bring._

He lazily opened his eyes…and quickly realized that he wasn’t in his crypt. Girly room done up in pastel colors, tiny blonde head pillowed on his chest, idiotic grin on his face – it only added up to one thing.

 _Bring!_

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Buffy grumbled against him.

Spike looked at her askance. “’S your phone, luv.”

“But you’re closer,” she insisted.

He looked at the device on the end table beside him as if it would bite.

 _BRING!_

“Quick!” Buffy exclaimed. “Before the answering machine gets it!”

Spike dove for the phone and caught it just before the recorded message began. “Yeah?” he demanded, annoyed.

“Hey, Spike!” Dawn said way too cheerfully for this hour of the morning. He checked the clock. Er…make that afternoon.

“Bit?” he sighed and collapsed back onto the bed, getting an annoyed little humph from Buffy when he shook the mattress.

“I just wanted to call to let you know that I’m not coming back today…or tonight. See, we’re going over to Stacy’s for breakfast, and then I’m spending the afternoon with Christy at the mall, and then I’m sleeping over at Dana’s…” she babbled out.

“An’ all this jus’ _happened_ to come about last night?” he demanded skeptically.

“Er…OK, no. I had to call around like mad,” she confessed. “Don’t tell Buffy. She always gets pissed when she thinks I’m setting the two of you up.”

“Not to worry, Nibblet,” he said with a small smile.

“What’s she say?” Buffy whispered in his ear, sliding her body up against him once more. She began to nibble it gently, and he fought back a moan.

“—but that was a long time ago,” Dawn finished whatever she’d been saying on the other end while Spike had been completely distracted.

“Er, yeah,” Spike said, fighting to keep his voice normal, “so you go do that, an’ we’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“ ‘ _We_ ’?” Dawn squealed with excitement.

“Oh yeah…” Even Spike wasn’t sure if he was answering her question or responding to the feel of Buffy’s tongue running down the center of his chest. “Bye then, Bit,” he said hurriedly, eager to end the call, “and…thanks.”

“You can repay me by not doing anything kinky anywhere near my room,” she teased.

“No promises,” he retorted with an evil little grin.

“Spike!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “You so owe me for this,” she grumbled before hanging up.

The receiver slipped from Spike’s hand onto the floor as Buffy moved to lean over him.

“Did I hear right?” Buffy whispered into his ear huskily. “You. Me. Bed. Alone. Till tomorrow?”

“Unless we get up for pesky things like food or drink,” he teased.

Buffy murmured in response, resting her head back against his chest. “You left the phone off the hook,” she finally commented.

Spike groaned. “ _You_ pick it back up,” he tried to sound unwavering. “Bloody chit’s _already_ orderin’ me around...” he grumbled under his breath.

Buffy bit back a laugh. “Actually,” she informed him conspiratorially, “I was complimenting you on your clever strategy. Phone off the hook means no interruptions...” She left off suggestively before propping herself up on her forearms so that her mouth could more properly play with those flat, hard, little nipples of his.

He seemed to quite enjoy her attentions, whimpering softly in the back of his throat.

“Mmm,” Buffy finally settled back down against him, “Spike-flavored.”

“You like Spike-flavored?” he suggested with a leer. “’Cause ‘ve got more where that came from, luv...” He rubbed his erection against her. “Straight from concentrate, too.”

“Pig,” Buffy said fondly, the smile on her face letting him know she was kidding.

“Got me you, din’ it?” he countered.

“Actually,” she informed him, “it was being all sweet and devoted and helpful and loving.”

Spike mock-frowned. “I did this when?” he demanded gruffly.

Buffy laughed and crawled further onto him, lying right over his chest beneath the blankets. “You do it all the time,” she told him softly, planting a quick, teasing kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re just a cuddly kitty cat under that bad ass image, aren’t you?”

Spike growled and flashed his fangs in argument. Buffy quickly countered by gliding one index finger down the center of his chest straight into his rough curls and stopping to encircle the base of his swollen cock. He features melted back to human at her touch, and he closed his eyes and whimpered softly.

“See?” Buffy joked. “Kitty likes to have his tummy rubbed.”

He opened one eye to glare at her. “’S not exactly my tummy you’re rubbin’,” he countered, incredibly satisfied with himself.

Buffy belatedly realized that her hand had taken on a mind of its own and was slowly stroking him up and down. “Oh well,” she gave in, “this is better anyway...” She gripped him firmly around the base and just held him for a minute, getting used to his feel and size.

“ _Much_ better,” he agreed.

“Hmm,” Buffy agreed lazily. “You know, I feel like I’ve slept for _days_. What time is it?”

“One thirty,” he replied into her hair. “Good thing we ‘ad the presence of mind last night to close the shades.”

“We didn’t,” she softly informed him. “I had to get up at four in the morning to make sure I didn’t wake up next to a big pile of dust. But, I guess it was worth it...”

“You ‘guess’?” he mock-scowled at her.

“I’m starting to appreciate it more and more,” she teased, gesturing to where he was now fully erect within her hand.

“Not yet,” he countered, “but you will soon...” He rolled over her as he spoke and slipped his hips between hers.

She eagerly opened up for him and let out a little sigh of completion when he was fully within her once more. They rocked slowly against each other, kissing and caressing all over as they did so.

After a minute, Buffy pulled his head down to her chest, turning his face into her shoulder. He held her tightly to him, still not quite believing that she was finally in his arms.

“B-Buffy?” he began cautiously.

She grunted for him to continue.

“Can we—?”

“—Talk?” Buffy finished his sentence for him with a wry smile, letting him turn back to face her once more. Her lips ended up mere inches from his. “You wanna talk, baby?” she teased. “You wanna talk like _this_?” She squeezed her internal muscles around him, and he let out a little whimper. She decided she liked that sound. She squeezed him again…

He kissed her softly, gently, just once before pulling away. “’S not fair,” he pouted, jutting out that delicious lower lip of his. “You’ve got an unfair advantage.”

“ _Me_?” Buffy said in disbelief, her eyes never leaving that lip. “ _I’m_ the one who has to try to concentrate with the massive vampire cock inside me!” she exclaimed.

“ ‘Massive’?” he repeated with a small smile.

She sighed in frustration and decided that she’d let that lower lip go untasted for far too long. She nibbled at it softly, eliciting a low, grumbling moan.

“So,” she teased lightly, pulling back and squeezing her inner muscles around him again, “whaddaya wanna talk about?”

“I. Love. You,” he gasped out between nearly unbearable twinges of pleasure.

Her expression softened. “I know,” she said gently, stroking the side of his face. “I get it now; really, I do…”

“No,” he shook his head and caught her hips, stilling her. “Y-You said…” He looked away shyly, his face crumbling when he realized that she hadn’t said it back…

And suddenly Buffy didn’t find this so amusing any more. “Hey, Spike,” she whispered softly against his temple. “Will you look at me, baby? Please?”

He reluctantly turned back to her, and she let her lips almost brush his once more. Her hips began rocking against his with a bit more force.

He sighed and shut his eyes when she leaned in a bit closer, anticipating her kiss…

It didn’t come. Instead, her lips held just a millimeter below his, so that only the tiniest motion was necessary from them brush.

“I love you,” Buffy said.

His eyes widened.

“I love you,” she repeated, and he suddenly realized what she was up to. Every time she hit the ‘L’ in the word ‘love’, her tongue would flick out ever-so-slightly and brush his lips. “I love you,” she did it again.

“I love you,” Spike countered, brushing down against her own lips.

Buffy let out a contented little murmur and increased her pace. Spike picked up the tempo as well, both of them deciding at the same moment that they’d lost the patience for sweet and tender.

Spike continued to pound into her with his full power, clutching her desperately to him as he did so and saying her name in a heady little gasp with each push.

Buffy’s nails grazed softly over his shoulder blades, her face twisted with pleasure. She was close now; she could feel it. Spike seemed to be everywhere: above her, inside her, around her, his hands caressing every bit of burning the flesh the second before she realized that that’s exactly where she needed his touch, his lips claiming hers once more, soft and powerful all at once.

She pulled away when the sensations became too much to bear. “I love you,” Buffy whispered softly against his ear. “I love you so much, Spike.”

“Love you too, kitten,” he agreed, allowing her words to wash over him and send him over the edge.

She came with him, enjoying the myriad of sensations when his Buffy-warmed cock spilled cool seed within her.

Together, they fell back down to the bed and just rested there, still wrapped in each other’s arms, for a long time.

Finally, Buffy stirred beneath him and batted on his shoulder slightly. “C’mon, Spikey,” she goaded softly. “Get up.”

“Don’ wanna,” he countered eloquently against her breast.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she insisted.

“Food unnecessary.”

“ _Spike_!”

“Oh, bugger...” he complained, finally rolling off of her.

“Maybe later,” Buffy retorted coyly.

 _That_ opened his eyes. He gave her that same confused, disbelieving look he always got every time she said something remotely risqué around him. Buffy figured he’d better get used to it fast, or he was going to be gaping like a fish for the rest of his unlife.

“C’mon,” she caught his hand, “I don’t wanna go alone...”

“Do I have to get dressed?” he whimpered.

“Clothing is discouraged,” she informed him, pulling the blankets back and giving him and good, long look up and down. “ _Definitely_ discouraged,” she said to herself, licking her lips. Sure, she’d always known he had a body to die for, but she hadn’t known it was _this_ nice...

He took the hand she offered him and let her pull him to her feet. They exchanged a couple of quick kisses before Buffy reluctantly pulled away and led him downstairs.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, displaying his body proudly before her, as she set to make herself lunch. “You like ham?” she asked over her shoulder.

He found himself touched that she’d make him a sandwich, too. “Yeah,” he agreed.

She slapped the rest of the ingredients together and put the sandwiches on a plate from the cupboard, setting it on the counter between them before she took hers.

He watched her curiously as she took the first bite, trying to fathom what exactly was going on in her head, then shrugged and began to wolf down his own sandwich. Food never lasted long around him – a fact which Buffy had complained about numerous times in the past.

She watched him eat, a slight smile on her face.

“What?” he finally demanded.

“You’re not like I imagined,” she said simply.

He raised one eyebrow. “’m pretty much myself,” he countered, nabbing a bag of chips from the cabinet and helping himself.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Something was supposed to happen. Something bad. There just should be no way that I can get away with sleeping with you and not have it turn into some sort of catastrophe. I’m expecting you to go psycho any minute now. Either that, or an apocalypse,” she teased.

He shook his head. “You’re a piece o’ work, Slayer. You know that?”

She giggled. “So are you,” she countered, licking the remaining mayonnaise off of her fingers. “It takes quite a man to defeat the Buffy Summers curse.”

“Not all men are...” he trailed off, embarrassed.

“No,” she agreed softly, “they’re not.” She took the chips from his hand and set them down on the counter. “I don’t think Rhitias had ever dealt with a _real_ man before,” she commented. “I think that’s how you tricked him so easily. He just couldn’t imagine that you wouldn’t be tempted by his offer...”

“Was tempted,” he countered. “’E even offered me the spell at the end there.”

“And you wanted to take it?” she asked.

He sighed. “No, not really,” he admitted, “wanted ta get back to you.”

“And that’s why I love you,” she informed him gently, resting her hands on his hips and pulling his body up against hers, letting their needy flesh brush together. “You’re always there for me, Spike, even when I’m too stubborn to admit that I need you...”

“You need me?” he repeated with a delighted little smile.

She laughed. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before,” she admitted. One of her hands lazily reached up to run through his hair. “I felt excited and alive and...happy. I’m in love with you, but I’m still having fun. And what’s up with that, anyway?”

“Tha’s how ‘s s’posed to be,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “who knew, huh? Who ever would’ve guessed that we fit together so... _perfectly_?”

He snorted derisively. “Me, for one,” he felt obliged to point out. “Tried to tell you, too, but no...you ‘ad to be all stubborn an’—an’ _infuriatin’_!”

“You’ve got your own infuriating moments, baby,” she countered. “It’s part of your charm.”

“Yours, too,” he agreed with a shy smile.

She reached up to kiss him, pressing her body snuggly against his as she did so. “Hmm, this is nice,” she sighed against his throat, “you, me, man, woman, Vampire, Slayer – equals... Feels right for once.”

“I was gonna go with ‘wicked’ or ‘sinful’,” he teased, “but the sentiment’s the same.”

“Humph,” she whapped him lightly on the shoulder and jutted out her lower lip.

He caught it in his almost instantly, and it was quite a while before either of them was able to speak again.

When Spike finally did regain his non-existent breath, he gently placed his lips against her forehead. “Can’t promise you ‘ll be perfect, luv,” he told her seriously. “In fact, ‘ll prob’ly do some right stupid things – we both will. But I can promise to try my best, an’ I can promise there’ll never be a dull moment...”

“A dull moment?” she teased. “With Spike? Impossible.”

He managed to blush a bit at her compliment. “What ‘m askin’, luv,” he said slightly nervously, “is...you know ‘m yours, forever or as long as you need me—”

“Forever sounds good,” she agreed.

“But—”

“Yes, Spike,” she cut him off with one finger to his lips. “I’m yours, too,” she answered his question before he could even ask it. “I-I’ve been waiting a long time—”

“Not as long as _I_ have,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, not as long as you have,” she conceded. “But I spent so long waiting that... I guess now I’m ready to _really_ try.”

“Doin’ a bang-up job so far,” he whispered into her ear. “An A for effort an’ enthusiasm.”

“What about for creativity?” she said with a sly smile, opening up the freezer door behind her and removing a container of chocolate ice cream. “I don’t know about you,” she teased, looking him up and down and licking her lips, “but I’m up for... _dessert_...”

A wicked little leer curled across his lips. But, then, before he could say anything, a low rumble began deep in his chest.

Buffy gave him a curious look before laying one hand on his chest to feel the source of the sound. “Are you...” she began, giggling slightly, “...purring?” she finally finished.

He shrugged, embarrassed. “’S what vampires do when they get all happy an’ content an’...”

“Angel never purred,” Buffy commented.

“Yeah, well, Angel’s a poofter,” Spike insisted.

Buffy laughed at that. “Hmm,” she said, placing her palm over his heart and enjoying the vibrations, “well, I like it...bet we can find tons of fun things to do with it...”

“Speakin’ of which,” he agreed, “’m feelin’ a mite peckish.”

She dangled the ice cream in front of him. “C’mon, baby,” she caught his hand, “let’s go up to bed. It’s time for all our dreams to come true...”


End file.
